


The Bandit and the Cinder Girl

by xfsista



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Community: dramione_remix, F/M, Minor Character Death, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xfsista/pseuds/xfsista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of a servant girl and a prince, both with secrets to hide.  A familiar fairy tale with added magic and a Dramione twist.  Written for the 2011 Dramione Couples Remix Fest and selected as Mod's Choice.  Slight revisions from the original posting including an expanded ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  


Once upon a time, there was a young French girl called Antoinette. Her family was not of great wealth, so she had no dowry to offer potential husbands, but her beauty and kindness earned her favor in the eyes of many a gentleman.

One afternoon, an attractive man with unruly brown hair happened upon her whilst she was picking apples in a local orchard. He tried to ask for directions, but French was not his mother tongue, and thus he stumbled through quite poorly. The girl giggled in amusement, and he flushed with embarrassment at having made an ass of himself in front of such a lovely woman.

"I speak English," she told him, trying to hold back her grin.

His eyes lit up. "So, mademoiselle is as bright as she is comely. What a rare thing indeed." He smiled at her, and it was her turn to blush.

He never did get his directions. He felt that God had already pointed him to the place where he needed to be. So William Granger stayed in the small village and began to court Antoinette. By the end of the summer, they were wed. 

He brought his clever bride to his small estate in the English countryside. While not quite nobility, he was an educated gentleman of some wealth, with a home that was more than adequate. Antoinette was particularly enamored with his collection of books. Her voracity for reading was something that he found charming. Whilst most husbands had no need for a wife who could read, he relished that his life partner was a woman who could match his wits. She could go toe-to-toe with him on almost any subject, arguing her points fiercely in English or French. He asked her one time where she learned to read and write, and she told him of a kindly old vicar who had taken pity on her and given her lessons for free.

He silently wondered if the vicar's intentions had been entirely altruistic or if he had been taking advantage of a girl with a strong desire to learn. Either way, he did not dwell upon it for long, as he was the one fortunate enough to capture his love's affections and reap the benefits of her tutelage.

The months passed by, and when March started blowing in like the lion it could be, she gave him the news that they two were going to become three.

William was over the moon with excitement. He knew that he should wish for a son to carry on his legacy, but secretly, he dreamed of a having a daughter. He wanted a girl like his Antoinette.

It was a grey, bleak day in September when his dream became a reality; but unexpectedly, it was also the day of his worst nightmare. In the wee hours of the morning, screaming lustily at the top of her little lungs, came a daughter. But bringing her into the world proved too much for his dear Antoinette. Before succumbing to the massive blood loss from giving birth, she softly whispered the name she wished to give her only child.

"Hermione."

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Hermione Granger was the apple of her father's eye. She was everything he could have hoped for in a daughter. She had her mother's big doe eyes and inquisitive nature. Knowing that his Antoinette would have wanted their daughter to be educated, he encouraged her love of books and knowledge. He even went as far as paying for private lessons.

When her tutor, one Mr. Severus Snape, snootily inquired why he would go so far to nurture such qualities in a mere girl, William replied with a growl, "I will not raise my daughter to one day become the property of a man. She is a bright girl with a sharp mind. She deserves more than to be treated like chattel."

Although taken aback by William’s vehemence, Snape couldn't help but question further. "But, sir, what kind of man would marry such a strong-headed creature?"

Hermione's father wistfully replied, "A man who wants more than a body to warm his bed. A man who wants a woman to engage his mind and challenge his ideals and make him strive to be better. A man who wants an equal."

From that day forth, Hermione spent her afternoons with Mr. Snape, learning to read and write and do sums. Mr. Snape often became frustrated with his pupil's tendency to speak out of turn, but he could not deny that her father was doing the right thing in expanding her mind. She was certainly the smartest child that he had ever taught.

Her manners, however, were deplorable. Mr. Snape blamed it on her lack of feminine influence. Hermione was primarily surrounded by men. The only meaningful interaction that she had with adult women was with the few maids her father employed, whose company was far from suitable. Even her best friend was a boy: some orphan wretch called Harry Potter. She often came back from her outings with Potter covered in mud and other questionable substances.

Her tutor often tried to convince her father to remarry. The girl needed to be taught things that two men could not even begin to understand. She needed a softer touch. She needed a mother.

But time and time again, William would shake his head and refuse. He would never admit it to the hook-nosed teacher, but he felt as though even the thought of marrying again would be a dishonor to the memory of his beloved Antoinette. He could not ask another to take her place. 

He held his stance on the issue until Hermione was around nine years old. Suddenly, strange things began to happen around his daughter that could not be explained. They usually happened when she was emotionally distressed. Once, she became angry, and the mirrors all cracked. Another time, she cried in grief over the loss of her cat, and it rained in the pantry. Sometimes, when she found herself afraid of the dark, candles would light themselves.

Snape was bewildered. He didn't think it was possible. She couldn't be…? Could she?

Something had to be done.

"Mr. Granger, we must talk about your daughter."

"Is this about the cow dung that I caught her and young master Harry collecting?"

"Excuse me?" Snape looked horrified.

"Uh…" William coughed. "I suppose not, then. Never you mind." Quickly changing the subject, he asked, "What mischievousness has my Hermione wrought this time?"

"Sir, I don't know if you are aware, but it seems that the young miss has been exhibiting some _strange_ behavior," said Snape, lowering his voice at the last few words.

Startled, William snapped his head to face him. "Strange?"

"I can tell by the look on your face, sir, that you know exactly to what I am referring."

William gave one quick, sharp nod of acknowledgement.

"Mr. Granger…" Snape paused, knowing that he needed to convey his suspicions as delicately as possible. "I believe that your daughter has a gift. The gift of magic."

The news seemed to hit the man hard. His lips thinned, and his face paled.

"You believe Hermione to be a witch?" he asked, distraught. Tears welled up in his eyes. "Do you know what they do to people accused of witchcraft?"

Severus knew indeed of the dangers to which magical folk were subject. He had seen his own mother burned at the stake when he was no older than his pupil.

"Sir," he said, his voice quiet and serious, "I have had some experience with magical folk, and I believe it would be beneficial if Miss Granger was exposed to others like herself. Her magic is strong, but she does not have the ability to control it, which could be very dangerous for her. With the proper tutelage and influence, she could become very skilled."

William sighed deeply as the weight of this unexpected challenge threatened to suffocate him. He had known that there was a world of problems that could afflict his daughter, but this was one he would never have predicted. He looked up at the greasy-haired teacher.

"What do you suggest?"

Snape proceeded to explain to him about the wizarding community and how it was hidden away from the non-magical, or Muggle, world. Although it was a rarity, it was not unheard of for Muggles to produce magical children. He expected Hermione to be invited to attend a boarding school in Scotland for wizards and witches, where she could learn to hone her talents. It would also give her the opportunity to interact with other children her own age that had the same abilities.

It was a lot to take in, but as a man who prided himself on his daughter's education, William Granger could not deny her the opportunity to become all that she could be. There were still a few years left before she would be old enough to go to this school, and in the meantime, the tutor suggested that William consider taking on a wife of magical blood. Snape admitted that he could teach Hermione some rudimentary magic to prepare her, but having a family member with a magical background would help ease her into her new world.

For the first time in nearly a decade, William Granger was in search of a wife.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

"Mr. Snape?"

The tutor kept his eyes glued to his book as he responded to the small voice. "Miss Granger, you are to be working on your sums and not pestering your elders."

"I have already finished my sums."

It was a situation to which Snape had already become accustomed. His bright young pupil would complete her tasks efficiently, then bombard him with questions. He knew that it was time to move her onto more advanced coursework.

"What about your Latin?"

"I've completed that, too. Now, I have a question," she said primly.

"Of course you do." He shut his book, knowing that he would not be left alone until he answered her inquiries.

"Mr. Snape, where do you go when you are not here?"

"I go to my home in Spinner's End," he replied.

"Do you have a wife?"

"No, I do not."

Her eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. "My father is bringing home a new wife. He said that she will be my stepmother. He also said that I'm going to have two sisters. I've never had a sister before. Do you think they'll like me?"

"Perhaps if you refrain from talking so much."

Hermione was used to her teacher's prickly demeanor and continued on as if he hadn't said anything.

"Do you teach other children?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. I have one other pupil besides yourself."

"A boy or a girl?"

"A boy named Draco."

"Draco?" She wrinkled her nose. "That's Latin for 'dragon,'" she said. "How unusual! What is he like?"

"He's nearly as insufferable as you," Snape replied flatly, picking up his book once more and pointing out a passage. "Now, fetch your quill and parchment. I want you to practice your writing by copying this poem."

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

The widow Rodmilla Greengrass had never imagined that she'd be in this position. She was a woman of pure blood who could trace her magical ancestry back for generations. Before she was two years old, her parents had arranged for her to marry Augustus Greengrass upon her sixteenth birthday, continuing their pureblood lineage.

Augustus was a man of great wealth, and the marriage was seen as an advantageous one. However, Rodmilla could have never foreseen that her husband, a man of prominence, would be a slave to women and alcohol. His dalliances with Muggle women left him shunned by pureblood circles. Many placed blame on her for not doing what needed to be done to keep her husband pleased at home. 

Augustus was eventually found dead, lying in the gutter outside of a London brothel. Years of hard drinking had weakened his internal organs and left him a weak shell of a man. His body had just given out.

Upon his death, it was discovered that his bank vault was empty. It seemed that Mr. Greengrass had also had a penchant for cards and gambling. 

Rodmilla Greengrass found herself with a tarnished surname and no money. The wizarding world had turned its back on her, and she was left with no alternatives. Had it not been for her daughters, Daphne and Astoria, she might have made an attempt to marry another wizard. But it was difficult to find a husband who was willing to raise another man's children. 

So she found herself in the most preposterous situation of agreeing to wed a Muggle.

As far as Muggles went, she supposed she could do worse. He was handsome enough, and whilst his wealth wasn't as great as her dead husband's had once been, it was enough to give her and her daughters a comfortable lifestyle. 

Most unexpectedly, he was aware of their magical ability, so it did not have to be hidden. If one had to marry a Muggle, it was a great advantage to not have to hide being a witch. However, how he came about his discovery of magic was disconcerting.

It appeared that his Muggle daughter had displayed instances of accidental magic. She had heard of Muggles who could do magic before, but she had never encountered one herself. Mudbloods, they called them, although not in polite company.

It disgusted her to think of Muggles becoming a part of the magical community, tainting the wizarding world with their filthy blood. 

These were thoughts that she would have to keep to herself. After all, her soon-to-be husband was counting on her to counsel his little darling. That was all he wanted out of this marriage of convenience.

Perhaps Rodmilla could convince her to stay in the Muggle world.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

When Severus Snape had encouraged his employer to marry a witch for the sake of his daughter, he hadn’t anticipated that it would result in more work for him. Now, instead of one pupil, he had three. Hermione, meanwhile, had graduated from being a student into an assistant. More often than not, she finished her lessons earlier than her stepsisters, and instead of pestering him with questions, she now helped the other girls with their work. Daphne and Astoria were smart girls, but they just weren’t as clever as Hermione.

Snape would never admit it, but he almost missed the young girl’s nattering. 

The lessons also became more complex as Hermione was introduced to the idea of magic and all that wizarding life entailed. She was delighted to learn of the world that would be her future.

As predicted, the new Madame Granger was quite insistent upon teaching Hermione all about propriety. No longer were her afternoons spent with the Potter whelp. She now had lessons in etiquette. In order to correct her posture and gait, Rodmilla would have her walk the halls with a book balanced on her head. She learned about place settings on a table and the proper way to serve tea.

Hermione picked it up quickly, like she did with everything else. She was eager to learn and wanted to please her new stepmother, no matter how mundane the tasks seemed to her. Of course, once she mastered what she had been taught, she’d find herself terribly bored.

On more than one occasion, she had been caught huddled in a window seat with a book in her hand instead of balanced on her head.

“Hermione, sit up straight! You’re going to end up with a lump on your back from hunching over a book all day.”

She wrinkled her nose, but did as Rodmilla asked. However, her new parent wasn’t finished with her criticism. “Honestly, your looks are quite average. What kind of husband do you hope to catch if you also have bad posture?”

Hermione was confused. These were not the kind of thoughts her father had brought her up to believe.

“I do not think I would want a husband who only cares for how I look,” she countered smartly. 

Her stepmother was incensed. “How dare you speak back to your elders in that manner! Your father wanted me to help you become a young lady, but I can see now that it is impossible. You’re too common to be a lady. How terribly disappointing for your father. I will have to speak to him when he returns from his trip.”

Hermione’s vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears. The thought of making her father anything but proud made her heart ache. He was her whole world, and she would have done anything to make him happy.

Rodmilla looked at her in disgust. “If you’re going to cry about it, then go to bed. No supper for you tonight.”

The young girl complied, holding her head high with all the dignity she could muster. She was determined to be a lady, no matter what.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

It was two years later when the household received the exciting owl posts with letters for Hermione and Daphne, accepting them into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the fear and stress that came with having a witch for a daughter, William Granger couldn’t have been prouder of her. It saddened him deeply that his Antoinette could not be with him to share in Hermione’s extraordinary journey.

Under Rodmilla’s watchful eye, his daughter had calmed into a more proper demeanor. However, he could see that, underneath her prim exterior, there lurked a fiery spirit that would burst forth when provoked.

She was now eleven years old and not very tall. She still had a baby face, but he could see so much of his beloved in her: the same heart-shaped visage and the big, brown eyes that made him melt. It was slightly unfortunate that she had inherited his curly hair, which seemed to overwhelm her little countenance. Nonetheless, he still felt that she was the most beautiful child in the world.

Of course, he was biased by his love for her. To the typical outsider, who could not see past the bushy brown hair, she looked very plain. Especially standing next to her stepsister Daphne, who seemed to be growing into the very likeness of her stunning mother. Her raven hair, usually pulled back by a pretty silk ribbon, was soft and fell in slight waves around her shoulders. Her body was already starting to fill out into womanly curves.

Truth be told, William was glad that his girl appeared to be a late bloomer. He found it disturbing the way men watched Daphne, waiting for her to be of age so they could openly pursue her. What bothered him more was his wife’s determination to find her daughter a husband, encouraging her to attract men.

“Papa,” his daughter said, distracting him from his worrisome thoughts. “Tomorrow, Mr. Snape is taking us to Diagon Alley! We’re going to get school robes and books and a wand! A magic wand!”

William smiled at Hermione and kissed her on the forehead. “It’s all very exciting, love.”

Rodmilla gave a concealed look of disdain out of the corner of her eye. Two years she had spent trying to make the girl act as if she weren’t severely lacking in couth, yet she still bounced around like an over-excited puppy. She half-expected her to piddle on the floor. Her pitiful husband just encouraged it. 

She decided that Muggles could never become refined. She again felt a sting at the thought that the little Mudblood would be allowed into the wizarding world, while she, a pureblood witch, was ostracized. 

The only way she could see herself getting out of this mess was if Daphne made an advantageous marriage to a wizard. She was already turning into quite a beauty, and Rodmilla knew she’d turn many a head at Hogwarts. She fully expected that, in a few years, her daughter would have a string of beaux queued up to ask for her hand. Rodmilla had already instructed Daphne to befriend purebloods of the highest societal standing. She had to make powerful friends to lay the groundwork for later on. She also told her daughter to avoid associating with her Mudblood stepsister; there was no need to taint the family name further.

It really was a shame that the Prince of Wizarding England would not attend Hogwarts with the rest of the children. He and Daphne were of the same age, and there was no higher position than royalty. But alas, the king made sure that his son was kept close at hand and tutored privately. 

Rodmilla looked back at her Muggle husband and his abomination of a daughter. Yes, she had to get out of this world. Hopefully before Astoria started school in a couple years.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

The trip to Diagon Alley exceeded Hermione’s imagination. There was literal magic around every corner, and though she had never been there before, she felt quite at home. This was where she belonged; she felt it deep down in her bones. 

She couldn’t wait to tell her father about it. 

Mr. Snape first took her and Daphne to see a woman called Madame Malkin to be fitted for school robes. Hermione had never been one to care about clothes beyond their practicality, but she couldn’t help admiring how the robes swished when she turned from side to side. Madame Malkin gave her an indulgent smile as she twirled in front of the mirror.

Swish, swish, swish.

“I don’t know why you’re so excited. They’re just plain school robes,” Daphne said, sneering sourly.

Despite being of the same age, she and her stepsister had never warmed towards one another. Their interests were vastly different. Hermione liked to read or run around outside having adventures. Daphne spent her time embroidering and primping like a vain little peacock.

With her mother’s influence, a friendship between them was never meant to be.

Astoria, who was a few years younger, was a little different from her sister. She admired both girls in the way that a child looks up to older siblings. In her eyes, Daphne was the prettiest girl in the world, but Hermione was the smartest. She wanted to grow up and be like both of them. She didn’t quite understand why her mother treated one sister differently from the other.

In fact, Astoria secretly thought Hermione to be more fun. Daphne mostly ignored her, but Hermione would read to her and play hide and seek with her. Their mother didn’t like that at all.

After their robes were boxed up and paid for, Mr. Snape asked if they’d be interested in going to the Magical Menagerie and perhaps choosing a pet to keep them company at Hogwarts. Hermione’s face lit up at the suggestion, which meant that Daphne immediately turned her nose up to the idea.

They ended up leaving the shop with a fluffy orange cat in tow that Hermione dubbed “Crookshanks.”

“Isn’t he lovely?” Hermione grinned as Severus looked into the cage holding the feline-Kneazle mix. The animal hissed at him in response.

“Quite.” He was clearly not amused.

They continued their task of visiting various shops and gathering all the books and supplies required for their first year in school. Daphne acted unaffected, whilst Hermione took everything in with a sense of awe.

Their final stop of the day was the one that Hermione had been looking forward to the most. Ollivander’s. Finally, she would get her wand. 

She watched with delight as Daphne went through the process of finding the right wand for her. Then it was her turn. She stepped up to the counter as Mr. Ollivander pulled a few slim boxes from the shelves. It took a few tries, but when she took the vine wood wand in her hand, she knew that she had found the one. 

It was as if she could feel the magic coursing through her blood, tingling in her veins, from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. The small stick of wood felt like an extension of her hand. It was part of her. 

Yes. This was it.

Their final purchase made, Snape arranged for everything to be delivered to the Granger estate before he and his two young charges made their way back to Muggle London for the long carriage ride home.

During the journey back, Daphne was lulled to sleep by the swaying of the Muggle transportation. For the first time in a while, Hermione peppered her teacher with questions.

“Mr. Snape, what will you do when Daphne and I leave for Hogwarts?”

“I’ll tutor Astoria until she is able to follow you to school,” he replied quietly.

“And after that?”

“I will teach other children.”

“Do you still teach the dragon boy?”

Slightly startled by the question, he sputtered, “Excuse me?”

“The dragon boy? Draco? It’s Latin for dragon.”

“Ah!” He knew that he should not have been surprised; she’d always had an excellent memory. “Yes, I do still teach Master Draco. He is your age, actually.”

Her eyes lit up. “Does this mean he will be going to Hogwarts, too?”

Snape shook his head. “No. Master Draco has, uh, important familial obligations that need attending to. He will remain at home, where I will assist with his education.”

Her face contorted into a frown. 

“Why so forlorn?” he asked.

“I was imagining how sad it must be for Draco to not be able to go to school with other children like him.”

The corner of the tutor’s mouth quirked almost imperceptibly. “Do not fret over Master Draco’s situation. He has it better than most.”

They rode in silence for a few miles before she spoke again.

“Mr. Snape?” Her eyes filled with worry. “Will you visit my father while I’m gone?”

He nodded at his pupil. “Yes, Miss Granger. I will stop by to see your father whilst you are away.”

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

The excitement of the day was not to last. Dusk was creeping in as the carriage pulled up in front the house. Hermione bounded into the front room, only to be greeted by Rodmilla’s distraught face. Before she could ask what was the matter, her stepsister and teacher entered the room, and her stepmother focused on them instead. 

“Severus! It’s William. His heart--”

Before she could finish, Hermione took off from the room, calling out to her father.

“Papa?!”

She ran up the stairs as quickly as her skinny legs would take her. She flung the door open to her father’s bed chamber and skidded to a halt when she realized the physician was in with him.

“Papa?” she whispered.

“It’s alright, m’dear.” Her father beckoned her over to the bed. The doctor exited quietly, leaving the man to say goodbye to his only child.

Hermione had never seen her father sick before, and it was quite disconcerting to find him lying ill in bed. She tip-toed toward him and settled gently on the bed beside him.

“Papa?” she whispered again, tears clouding her vision.

“Oh, my darling,” he cooed. “Do not fret. I know it’s very scary, but it’s time for me to go.”

The young girl burst into tears and laid her head on his chest. He stroked the back of her head soothingly as she cried. He spoke again, and the rumbling of his voice through his chest felt loud against her ear.

“I am so proud of you, Hermione. You have made me the happiest father in the world. I could not have asked for a smarter, more beautiful daughter than you.”

She sniffled loudly at his words. “I love you, Papa.”

“And I love you, my sweet. But now I must go see your Mama.”

Hermione laid in her father’s arms and cried herself to sleep. When she awoke, she was in her own bed and her father was gone, the feeling of his large hand cradling the back of her head now nothing more than a phantom memory.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Far away in the darkness before dawn, a rooster crowed, announcing the beginning of a new day. Hermione grunted and burrowed further into her bedding. A furry head butted her face, and she pushed at it blindly. 

“Go ‘way, Crooks!”

The ginger cat was not deterred and started pawing at her hair. She opened one bleary eye to glare at her bothersome companion, but it was too dark to see him.

She sat up, taking note of the chill in the air. The light from the fireplace had died down significantly, leaving her with little heat. She rolled off her straw-filled paillasse, hissing when her bare feet made contact with the ice-cold stone floor. She scurried across the room to stoke the embers and throw another log onto the fire. She stood as close to the flames as she dared, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, trying to soak in as much warmth as the tiny fire would give.

The small room began to heat up, and Hermione finally felt comfortable enough to slip out of her thin nightgown and into her day clothes. She went to the old trunk with the rusty hinges at the foot of her bedding and opened it up. She pulled out a pair of wool stockings and a functional brown dress. She went through the perfunctory morning ritual of dressing, plaiting her hair, and washing her face. 

She was finishing up when she heard a gentle tapping at her window. She rushed over to find a snowy owl carrying a small package addressed to her. It wasn’t often that Hermione got an owl post. When she did, it was usually from her dear friend, Harry Potter, the orphan boy, who had turned out to be magic as well.

The package contained a book about the history of magic and a note wishing her a happy birthday.

She had forgotten that it was the nineteenth of September. She was now seventeen. She felt both ridiculously old and still like a child all at once.

The last six years had not been kind to her. After her father’s death, her stepmother had become angry at being left alone with yet another child in her care. She had also made her thoughts quite clear on Muggle-born witches, calling her a Mudblood: a term Hermione came to loathe. The first thing she did was lock away the beautiful vine wood wand and forbid Hermione to ever touch it again. 

Rodmilla went on a rampage. She discharged the small household staff, muttering about how she couldn’t afford to pay them and how Hermione would now take their place to earn her keep. She was relocated to a room just off the kitchen that had once belonged to one of the servants. The proper furniture with which her father had provided the previous inhabitant was removed and replaced with a straw-filled mattress, a trunk for her clothes, and a low milking stool that sat near the fireplace and served as her only seating.

One week after her father had been laid to rest, Hermione watched as her stepsister left for Hogwarts, while she was forced to stay behind. Her magic was the only thing she had left; and it had been taken away from her, just like her mother and father.

She became much more withdrawn and quiet, but inside still lurked a passion for learning. Whenever she could, she listened at the door while Astoria had her lessons with Mr. Snape. She found texts about charms and transfiguration lying about, and she snatched them up to read by the firelight in the evenings. She couldn’t practice her magic, but the knowledge made her feel more whole. She memorized the incantations and mimicked the movements with her fingers, even though she knew she’d never get to try them with a wand.

After Astoria became old enough to go to Hogwarts, Hermione rarely saw Mr. Snape anymore. However, books about magic still seemed to find their way to her.

Harry also sent her his old books after he no longer needed them. He felt so awful about his friend that he even offered to marry her once he graduated from school. He wanted to save her from her lot in life. However, she refused, knowing that there was a certain red-headed girl with whom he was truly in love. She adored Harry for wanting to help her, but she could never have let him sacrifice his own happiness for her.

She had accepted the hand that she had been dealt. 

Hermione looked at the book that her friend had sent her and smiled. She slid it under the clothes in her trunk before slipping on her apron and beginning her day.

As she did every morning, Hermione prepared breakfast for the household. Daphne and Astoria had left for Hogwarts three weeks prior, so she only had to cook for Rodmilla and herself. Her stepmother would take her meal in the dining room, whilst she would eat at a small table in the kitchen.

After the morning meal, she dedicated herself to her chores. Some had to be done every day, such as dusting and milking the cow. Others, like attending to the wash or scrubbing the floors, were handled weekly. That day, she had to go out into the apple orchard and gather some late-season fruit, as Rodmilla had requested pie for that evening’s dessert. 

She did the indoor chores first, knowing that her stepmother hated when she traipsed around the house after having been in the barn. Before heading out, she decided to be naughty and sneak in a little reading time by the fireplace. Engrossed in her book, she idly drew circles with the fingers of her free hand in the ash left on the stone hearth.

The always reliable Crookshanks crept into the room and rubbed against her legs, stirring her out of her trance. Upon realizing how much time she had spent lost in her book, she slapped a hand against her face before rushing out to the barn.

She wasn’t sure how she managed it, but she made quick work of her tasks and didn’t fall as far behind as she had been afraid she might. She picked up a basket and started her journey toward the orchard. 

Along the path, she unexpectedly met a most familiar face.

“Mr. Snape!” She grinned in surprise at seeing her former tutor.

He looked at the girl before him, with her dirty face and shabby clothes. A confused look crossed his countenance. He didn’t recognize her.

She brought her hand to her chest. “Mr. Snape! I’m Hermione Granger.” 

He looked into her big, brown eyes and realized that the girl before him had once been his brightest student. All her potential had been wasted on menial tasks. 

“My apologies, Miss Granger. You have… changed.”

She looked down at her clothes, and a small tinge of pink bloomed upon her cheeks. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her.

“I mean you’ve grown a lot since we last met. How old are you now?”

She looked grateful at the implication that he had been referring to her age and not her appearance. “I am seventeen today, sir.”

“Then let me offer good tidings to you on this day.” He gave a slight bow of his head in her direction.

She curtseyed in response and said, “I thank you, sir. Tell me, how have you been? Do you still teach the dragon boy?”

Severus sighed deeply in annoyance. “The dragon has fled his lair, I’m afraid.”

She furrowed her brow, clearly not understanding. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Master Draco has run away. That is why I’m cutting through the orchard. There is reason to believe he’s escaped to the Muggle world, so I’m off to the village to seek him out.”

“Oh my! Well, I shall not detain you from your task any further. I hope you locate him quickly.” She smiled at him with genuine goodness, and he again felt the sting at the unfairness that had been put upon her.

“Thank you, Miss Granger. Good day.” She returned his goodbyes and had begun to walk away when he suddenly remembered something in his pocket.

“Miss Granger!” She turned back at the sound of her name. He hurried forward and handed her the small book that he happened to have been carrying. “It’s not much, but happy birthday.”

She looked down at the book and then back at him. “Thank you, Mr. Snape.”

The look of joy on her soot-covered face was worth giving up his _Pocket Full of Potions_ reference book.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Hermione walked back to the house with a spring in her step. Her basket was heavy with apples, and her heart felt light with happiness. The sun had broken through the grey morning to make way for a pleasant afternoon. The day had warmed, but not unpleasantly so, and the sky was now the most beautiful blue. It contrasted sharply with the browns and reds in the trees from the impending autumn. 

It was a glorious day, in which she received not one, but two books as gifts. What a rare and unexpected treat! It was truly the best birthday she had experienced since her father’s passing. 

She hummed to herself as she reached the back entrance of the house, which led directly into the kitchen. The fire she had built earlier had left the room nearly sweltering, so she opened a window to allow in the breeze.

This was the one room in the house that she felt belonged to her. She was the only person in the household who ever entered the kitchen, so she felt free and at ease inside it. 

She looked down at herself and realized that she was quite filthy from today’s chores and that she’d need to clean up before beginning preparations for supper. Well, she needed water from the well anyway. She began to head back outside when she heard a rustling coming from inside the pantry. She stopped immediately and held completely still, as though she had been petrified. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Maybe it was a mouse.

She heard it again, and this time, the noise was beyond the capabilities of a rodent. Someone was in the house. 

Trying to quell her panic, she grabbed the first thing that she could find to use as a weapon. She tiptoed across the room, grateful that the flooring was made of stone instead of the creaky wood of the floorboards in the upper rooms. She was reaching very slowly towards the latch when another loud noise and a muffled curse from inside made her jump back as though she had been burned.

Strengthening her resolve once more, she gripped her means of protection in one hand and swung the door open with the other. Her eyes widened at the sight before her. A young man was sprawled on a huge bag of flour.

“What are you doing in my house?!”

Startled at being discovered, the man jumped to his feet quickly, pulling out a wand and pointing it toward her. She could see now that he was much taller than he had appeared on the ground. He was dressed in black from head to toe, his body neither too thin nor too bulky. He had strong shoulders and sharp eyes the color of silver. His hair was startlingly blond to the point that it was nearly white.

Those eyes were also taking in her appearance. He noted the shapeless, drab dress and her dirt-streaked face. Clearly, she was a servant. Rather a shame, he thought, as her eyes were quite lovely. In her right hand, she was holding…

He began to laugh jovially. “Are you going to attack me with a wooden spoon?”

He noticed a hint of pink darkening her cheeks under the smudges on her face. Her eyes were now flashing indignantly.

“If need be.” She turned her nose up primly.

Amused, he leaned against one of the pantry shelves, pointed his wand at her, and lazily drawled, “Expel-”

Before he could finish the incantation, she hurried forward and smacked the spoon on the back of his hand, causing him to drop his wand.

“Ow!” he shrieked. “That smarted! What did you do that for?!”

“You were going to disarm me!” she shouted back. “Now, I ask again, what are you doing in my house?”

Rubbing the back of his hand, he scowled at her. “I got locked in this room by accident.”

“You accidentally wandered into my home and into the pantry and got locked in?” Her tone was understandably disbelieving.

He wasn’t sure if he could lie his way out of this situation, so he opted for the truth and hoped that she’d take pity on him.

“My sincerest apologies, miss. I must confess, I was attempting to steal food, for I am hungry and without means.” He was not used to being so earnest, and the words felt slightly foreign on his tongue.

She didn’t seem entirely convinced and had yet to lower her deadly spoon. “You’re dressed too finely to be ‘without means,’ as you put it. Are you a bandit?”

He was temporarily taken with the romantic idea of being a professional thief and quirked his mouth in a half-smile. “A brilliant deduction, m’lady. I must commend you on your wits. Why yes, I am a bandit.”

Hermione gave a very unladylike snort of derision. “Not a very good one, I must say.”

He really shouldn’t have been offended, since he wasn’t actually a bandit; but her quick dismissal of his thieving skills frustrated him.

“Why do you say that?” he demanded.

“First of all, a good bandit would have been more careful, instead of making noise like a bull in a china shop and alerting everyone in the vicinity to his presence,” she informed him wryly.

“I told you, I got locked in. I was looking for a way out of your meager pantry and fell. How would you have gotten out gracefully?”

“I would have used my wand and performed a simple Alohomora charm.” She grinned at him, knowing that she had won the argument, but something else caught his attention.

“That’s the second time you’ve made reference to a spell. How does a Muggle know so much about magic?”

The mirth drained from her face, and he knew that he now had the advantage over her.

“I… my… my mistress is of magical descent,” she explained slowly. “One tends to learn a few things when living in such a household.”

She seemed distraught over what she had revealed, and he fully intended to use it to his advantage. 

“If you provide me with food and lodging, I shall keep your secret, cinder girl.”

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully and lowered her spoon in defeat. “You can stay in the barn for now. I’ll bring you a plate after my mistress has eaten.”

He smiled at his triumph and bowed deeply in gratitude. “I thank you, m’lady.”

He picked up his discarded wand and had begun to leave for the barn when her voice stopped him. “Sir? Why did you call me cinder girl?”

He walked up to her and stood close enough that she could feel the heat of his body and the slight scent of cinnamon that he must have picked up in the pantry. His eyes never left hers as he pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and swiped it over her cheek. He held it up so that she could see the ashy smudges left behind. 

When she blushed, he smirked and placed the handkerchief in her hand before walking away without a word.

Hermione stood in the middle of the kitchen, her face burning, wondering at what had just occurred. She looked at the fancy handkerchief in her hand and slid her thumb over the embroidered “M” flanked by two snakes in the corner. 

Little did she know that the man she had sent to sleep in her barn was Prince Draco of the House of Malfoy, heir to the throne of Wizarding England.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´


	2. Chapter 2

Draco rolled over and the straw under his ear made a crinkling sound. The Muggle girl had been kind enough to bring him bedding to keep him warm during his night in the hay loft. It was practical, but it was a far cry from the opulent bedding to which he was accustomed. 

Sleeping in a barn had also been a bit noisier than he would have imagined. Mice and other critters scampered about; the old milking cow snorted and stamped her hooves. Off in the distance, dogs barked and owls hooted, crickets chirped and frogs croaked. Night life in the country was unexpectedly lively.

Despite his discomfort, he found that he didn’t mind. For years, he had been sequestered behind palace walls and it had been suffocating. He understood that he had obligations to his people to fulfill, but he wanted to know more about the world: more than his tutor and his father could teach him.

The breaking point came when his father started discussing marriage and providing an heir. 

“If you married the Princess of Spain, it would be a most advantageous political alliance,” his father had told him, as though marrying a girl were equivalent to taking an opponent’s pawn during a game of chess. 

“I don’t speak Spanish, Father,” he replied dully.

“Well, then there are many fine young English witches who would make suitable mates. Lord Parkinson has a lovely daughter just about your age.”

Draco resisted the urge to groan. “Father, I don’t know if I could take Pansy Parkinson nagging me about fashionable dress for the rest of my life.”

“Draco, one does not marry a girl for her skills as a conversationalist. Especially not a man in your position. You choose a wife of good stock.”

“Good stock? Merlin, Father, am I looking for a wife or a horse? Shall I check the teeth of the next woman I meet?”

Irritated at his son’s sarcasm, the king dismissed him and promised that they’d talk further when Draco was in better spirits.

The prince had no intention on having the conversation again, regardless of his mood. Grabbing his cloak and wand, he impulsively left the castle without so much as a note informing his father where he’d gone. 

He only knew of two places in the Muggle world. One was Spinner’s End, where he knew his tutor lived; but he wanted to avoid running into his old teacher, so he chose the other place: Godric’s Hollow.

He had heard Professor Snape mention it in passing once, whilst discussing another pupil. Knowing that the student had most likely moved on to Hogwarts by now, Draco had thought it unlikely that he would run into Snape there.

Now, he was sleeping in a dank old barn on a bed of straw, far away from all the comforts of home, with only a cow and some mice to keep him company.

It wasn’t all bad, though. The Muggle girl was very amusing, to say the least. He chuckled again at the look on her face when she’d realized she was covered in soot.

When she had brought him dinner earlier, her face had been shiny from having been scrubbed clean. He’d found that she had quite a pretty countenance underneath all that dirt. Almost shockingly so. Perhaps it had been the kindness of the candlelight, but her skin was without flaw and nearly glowed. It had made the dewy softness of her eyes stand out even more.

Yes, Godric’s Hollow had been a good choice, indeed. These were his last thoughts before finally drifting off to sleep.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Draco’s blissful slumber was not to last. It felt as though he had just dozed off when he was roused by the smell of eggs and an insistent poking in the ribs.

“Bandit! Get up!” It was the Muggle girl. She was whispering harshly, as if she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to wake him or not. He groaned and rolled over. Again, he found himself longing for his bed as there was no part of his body that didn’t ache.

Undeterred, the girl shook his shoulder roughly. He cracked one eye open and saw that it was not yet daylight. Why was she pestering him in the middle of the night? He shifted away from her slightly and pulled the blanket over his head.

He thought he heard her muttering to herself, but he was already falling back asleep. He didn’t hear her leave the hayloft or return a moment later. The next sensation of which he was aware was the swift pulling back of the blanket and the feeling of ice-cold water drenching his face.

He sat up sharply, sputtering water and gasping for air.

“How _dare_ you?!” he bellowed loudly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, your highness!” His heart skipped a beat at hearing his title, but he quickly realized that she was using it sarcastically. “This is not a home where wayward bandits get a free bed and meal.”

She half-tossed towards him a tin plate with bacon, eggs, and toast. “Now, eat up, clean up, and meet me downstairs so I can show you how you will earn your keep whilst you are here.”

Then she hurried down the ladder, leaving him to stew at his rude awakening.

Fifteen minutes later, he joined her on the ground level of the barn, hair still damp and glare in place. He was used to ladies fawning over him and had never been treated so callously. Furthermore, he was certainly not accustomed to girls looking at him with an air of smug superiority. Especially a Muggle servant girl. If she knew who he really was, she’d be singing a different tune.

He volleyed her earlier sarcasm back at her and bowed deeply. “Now that I am awake at this preposterous hour, what would my ladyship like for me to do?” 

“Do not mock me.” She wrinkled her nose in disdain. “I may not have wealth or have been born into nobility, but I am very much a lady. I will be treated as such.”

He was somewhat chastened at the realization that she was simply treating him the way that he had wanted to be treated: like a regular man. She had given him temporary refuge when he’d had no place to go, and he was thanking her by being insulting. 

Nonetheless, the use of the water had been excessive. 

As if reading his thoughts, she apologized. “I’m sorry for the harsh manner in which I awoke you, but you made me quite angry.”

“My sincerest apologies, m‘lady. I shall try not to tempt your ire in the future. Besides, I was in need of a bath.”

She stifled a giggle behind her hand. 

“Oh, you think it funny, do you?” His voice was now playful and not so irate. “Well, perhaps I shall sneak into your bedchamber and wake you in a shocking manner.”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound scandalous, but the flush on her face told him that the thought of a man creeping into a maiden’s sleeping quarters had embarrassed her. 

He considered amending his statement but chose not to, deciding that it could help him play up his bandit persona. If she thought him a rogue, then so be it. 

“What shall I call you?” she asked. 

He knew that she was somewhat aware of the magical world, but he wasn’t sure how much. He took a chance and gave her his family name.

“Malfoy.”

She frowned in thought. “Malfoy? You mean like ‘mal foi?’ That’s French for ‘bad faith.’” Raising her nose in the air, she said, “How appropriate.”

He lifted a brow. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more: the blatant insult or the fact that this seemingly simple country girl was educated enough to know French. He decided to address the former and save the other information for future use.

“Pray tell me _your_ surname, so I can assess your character.”

She started at his question and remained silent. He smiled at her, knowing that her loss for words meant that he might not have lost the argument just yet. 

“Well?”

“Gr-Granger.” She pursed her pink lips and crossed her arms over her chest, awaited his inevitable taunt.

“Granger, you say? That means ‘farmer,’ does it not? It seems I’m not the only one with an appropriate name.” Oh, how he loved this play of words.

Her eyes flashed at him in annoyance. “At least a farmer is a noble profession, unlike a bandit, who steals from those who toil for their livelihood.”

“Perhaps it is less noble, but one must admit that being a bandit is a much easier and perhaps more cunning road to travel. After all, I gain wares without the hard work.” 

“Cunning?” She laughed outright. “Says the wizard who was caught in a pantry by a mere Muggle girl.” Her laughter died out as she turned serious. “I think the word you were looking for is ‘dastardly.’ You may gain things easily, but you can take no pride in it. It isn’t until you put your own blood, sweat, and tears into something that you can truly appreciate it.”

Draco was astounded. Not only by her words, but by the girl herself. He had never known such passion and had never seen in it another human being. She was stubborn and earnest and frustrating to no end, yet watching her was exhilarating. Something deep down inside of him crackled with every word they exchanged and it made him feel more alive than he ever had.

“Well, Granger, I challenge you. Show me the value and joy of labor.”

She smiled at him beatifically. “Right this way.”

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

“MOO!” The cow kicked over the milk bucket and nearly knocked him from his stool.

“Malfoy!”

When he had challenged her to teach him about hard work, he honestly hadn’t thought he’d have to get so intimate with a cow. He was fairly certain that the cow felt put out by this arrangement as well.

“You must be careful,” Granger admonished, perched on a low stool next to him. “Bessie is a lady cow, and ladies prefer a gentler touch.” She patted the bovine on her side and tried to ease her anxiety.

He looked at her skeptically. “A lady cow?”

“Yes! Now, try again.”

He eyed the udders uncomfortably before reaching forward and tugging again. Bessie let out a horrifying noise somewhere between a moo and a groan. This time, she succeeded in knocking Malfoy off his seat.

“Bloody cow!”

Hermione’s mouth dropped, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“There’s no need to swear,” she scolded as she helped him upright again. “I told you to be gentle and you disregarded my warning. How would you like it if a stranger came along and tugged on you?!”

The picture she had painted unexpectedly made him think indecent thoughts. He found himself arching his brow and leaning in a little closer as he said quietly, “Depends upon the stranger.”

She squinted at him in confusion as she replayed the conversation in her head. He knew the second that the words became clear, for her forehead suddenly smoothed out and her face went red.

“Oh,” she said, exhaling. Then she said it a second time, her eyes wide and her voice louder. “OH!”

He laughed heartily at her discomfort, which only made her flush deeper.

“You wicked man! Twisting my words to make them sound tawdry!” Fighting the urge to smack him, she crossed her arms and pouted, waiting for his mirth to die down.

As he slowly regained his breath, he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “Yes, I do believe that there is great joy to be found in milking cows.”

She tried to fight it, but she could not help smiling in spite of herself. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head before returning to lecture mode.

“Perhaps I should show you how it’s done, rather than tell you.” She righted the bucket and settled onto the stool that he had previously occupied. He crouched down beside her and watched as she tenderly wrapped her fingers around the cow’s udder and squeezed gently until milk shot into the bucket. When done correctly, it really was quite amazing. At first, he was transfixed by the rhythm of her hands. Then, he followed the line of her arm up to her face.

He studied her profile intently. She had dark brown hair which was pulled back in a braid, but tiny curls sprung out everywhere. Draco wondered what it would look like in its full glory. Her brows were soft and feminine in shape and her lashes long. Her cheeks were rosy with good health and her lips were pink and plump, though not overly so. Her nose was straight as an arrow and lightly dusted with freckles.

Never before had he seen such a perfect nose.

He was so wrapped up in his observation that he failed to notice that she was finishing up her demonstration of milking cows. 

“…and now we have a full bucket of…” She turned towards him and stopped short when she saw how close his face was to hers. Frozen, all she could do was finish lamely, “…milk.”

Her breath tickled his face and he was overcome by a strong desire to take her in his arms and smother her with kisses, but that was absurd. Why would he want to kiss a Muggle servant girl? She was comely and she made for enjoyable company, but he could hear his father’s words about duty in the back of his head. This adventure was nothing more than a temporary respite; he would need to return home one day and face his destiny. This girl was a passing fancy and could be nothing more. 

Her big, brown eyes were round with both expectation and trepidation. With great reluctance, he stood up and took a step back, ending the moment. He thought he saw her eyes flash with the briefest hint of disappointment, but it was possible that he had imagined it. He gave her a thin, almost apologetic smile.

“We do, indeed, have milk. Well done, Miss Granger. What shall you teach me next?” 

Hermione wasn’t sure what she had been wishing for when she’d turned to find the bandit so close to her. She had no business expecting anything, really. It was outrageous to even entertain such ideas. Yet she had, and now she felt irrationally angry and wanted to punish him.

“How about mucking the stalls?”

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

“Ugh.” Draco groaned. For hours, he had shoveled horse manure, mended fences, and chopped wood. He was filthy; his skin was sticky with dirt and sweat, and he smelled foul. His hands, unaccustomed to manual labor, were red with angry blisters.

The sun was slipping low on the horizon as he took the last of the logs over to the woodshed before trudging back towards the barn. He was greeted by the surprising sight of Granger standing next to a tin tub full of clean, warm water. Her face was pink and he was uncertain whether it was from embarrassment or the exertion of carrying buckets of water to fill the tub.

“I, er, thought you might like a bath.” She gestured next to the tub to a stack of neatly folded clothes. “I brought you some freshly laundered clothing. Oh! I also cleaned your handkerchief.”

He didn’t know why, but the sincerity with which she presented this kindness made his heart ache a little. He had no smart reply for her, so he muttered a thank you. Nodding in response, she told him that she’d be back with his dinner shortly then made her escape. 

Once she was gone, he quickly disrobed and sank into the cooling water. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes while contemplating all that he had done that day. He really hadn’t expected to, but he was starting to understand what Miss Granger had meant about appreciating hard work. His body ached, but there was satisfaction in his pain. Draco had worked harder than he ever had before and, though the tasks had been menial, he still felt accomplishment in what he had done. 

His thoughts turned to the rustic beauty who had challenged him with these tasks. She had pushed him hard, but no harder than she pushed herself. Even this bath he was enjoying was a result of her labor. How many buckets of water had she warmed and carried out so that he could be clean before slipping into bed? Even now, she was still working, preparing a meal.

In that moment, Draco made a promise to himself that he would find a way to repay her benevolence. In the meantime, he would continue not to use magic, so that they would at least be on equal footing. 

Hermione was silently berating herself in the kitchen as she cooked the lamb. She could tell from looking at his hands that he was not used to working so hard. She had felt as if he had rejected her, but now all she felt was guilt for punishing him for her own silly fancies. Yes, he had been the first man who had ever looked at her as though she were pretty, but that didn’t mean that she had the right to abuse the power he had given her by agreeing to work for his supper. It was her shame that had led her to draw him a bath for she knew how dirt could cling to one’s skin after a long day of toiling; she had thought that he might appreciate the luxury of cleaning up. 

She wordlessly delivered a dinner plate to her stepmother, who, as usual, barely acknowledged her. Hermione scurried back to the kitchen to make two more servings, one for herself and one for her bandit in hiding. Almost as an afterthought, she grabbed a small vial of healing oil and dropped it in the pocket of her apron. 

Hermione slipped out of the house soundlessly and made her way towards the barn. She reached the door and inhaled sharply at the scene before her. Malfoy was standing next to the tub with his back to her. He had pulled on a clean pair of trousers, but his torso was bare, the candlelight playing off the slopes of his shoulders. His hair was wet, and droplets of water skimmed down the perfect, pale skin of his back. 

Stepping back into the shadows, she allowed her burning face to cool. She knew there were differences between men and women. After all, she and Harry had sneaked a peek at one another when they were five. This, however, wasn’t a childhood curiosity. This was seeing a fully grown, half naked man and it made her belly tingle in the most curious way. 

With a final calming breath, Hermione entered the barn again, this time to find Malfoy fully dressed. She gave him a small smile and he smiled back as she handed him his plate of food. They sat together on the small milking stools, plates on their knees, and ate in companionable silence. He tried to cling to some semblance of good manners, but his exhausted body craved sustenance and he devoured his meal. 

Afterwards, his belly full and his body clean, he leaned against the barn wall and slipped into a light doze. He woke abruptly at the feeling of her hands upon his. Draco stared as she drizzled oil over his palms and gently massaged it into his tender skin. He could easily have mended his wounds with magic, but he decided that he liked the intimacy of the Muggle way of healing. Her hands were so much smaller than his, yet they did so much more. 

Being born with a title, he had lived a life in which he was granted great respect for no other reason than his name. Yet he rarely met people on whom he wanted to bestow his respect in return. 

The girl before him had nothing, but she respected everything and everyone, from an old milking cow to a wayward bandit. She bewildered him, and in a way, he was envious of how she found meaning in things that would be overlooked by others. She saw greatness in simplicity. She saw, in a bandit, a man that no one even tried to see in a prince. 

This simple country girl was the most astonishing person he had ever met. 

Once she’d finished with his hands, she wrapped them in cloth torn from the bottom of her apron. She stood to leave, and he called out to her.

“Granger?”

Hermione turned, eyebrows lifted in question. 

“Where did you get these clothes?”

A shadow of sadness passed over her eyes before she smiled at him warmly.

“They were my father’s,” she answered quietly, before walking away. 

Yes, she was astonishing.

She also had his respect.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

The days passed by and turned into weeks and, before long, September slipped into October. The last of the autumn leaves clung desperately to their limbs, only to be beat down to the earth by the wind and rain.

Hermione stepped gingerly through the darkness leading to the barn, balancing a plate in one hand and trying to hold her shawl over her head with the other. The ground was slick with wet leaves and mud, making even the short distance a bit more precarious. 

She had nearly reached the door when she made the false step that she had been avoiding. Shrieking, she tumbled face-first into the mud. The cold rain pelted her back, and she sighed in defeat. The barn door squeaked open, and the warm glow of candlelight spilled out into the darkness.

“Granger?!” Malfoy sounded almost worried. “Are you hurt?”

She lifted her mud-covered face and glared.

“The only thing that’s hurt is my pride,” she stated flatly.

He tried to hold it in. Really, he did. But it built in his gut and worked its way up until his lips began to quirk with mirth. 

“Don’t you dare laugh!”

His face gave an involuntary twinge. Sucking his lips into his mouth, he pressed them together hard to keep them from moving as he helped her up. On the ground lay his dinner, her dress covered in the greasy remnants of what had once been roast chicken.

“Your dinner is ruined,” she wailed. 

He could no longer contain it. He sputtered and began cackling like a hen who had just laid an egg. 

“It’s not funny!”

He could barely make out her dirt-streaked face through the tears of merriment in his eyes. His glee was infectious, and she soon found herself chuckling, too. Moments later, their sides were aching and their faces flushed.

Malfoy took hold of her arm and pulled her into the barn. “Come in, m’lady, before you catch your death.”

He led her in towards better light. Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he began to dry her face.

“Why is it,” he asked, “that I always seem to be cleaning you up?”

She shivered, but she wasn’t sure whether it was from the cold or from his proximity. Noticing the tremor that ran through her, he pulled her shawl from her shoulders.

“You need to get out of that wet dress before you really become ill.” 

Once again, she trembled, but it was most certainly not from the chill in the air.

He smirked at her obvious discomfort. “Fear not, Granger. Your virtue is in no danger from me. Go behind Bessie’s stall. Don’t remove your shift and cover yourself with this.” Grabbing his cloak , he handed it to her.

Hermione took the cloak in her cold fingers and dashed behind the partition to hide herself from his view. Peeking around the corner to make sure that he stayed a safe distance, she quickly divested herself of her apron and wool dress, leaving her in her thin linen shift. She hastily flung the warm cloak around her shoulders. It was a long cloak on him, but on her, it dragged across the floor. Gathering the excess material in her hands, she made her way out of the stall.

Lifting an eyebrow, he grinned. “Fetching.”

Rolling her eyes in response, she draped her wet clothes over the side of the empty tin tub. She reached out to return his handkerchief, but he shook his head. Wrapping his fingers around hers, he curled them in until she was gripping the square of cloth.

“No. You keep it. You seem to need it more often than I.” He looked at her in inquiry. “Come sit. You’re entirely too quiet for my liking. If there’s anything I’ve learned over these past weeks, it’s that when you’re quiet, it means you’re thinking too much.”

They settled into a familiar corner where they often shared their meals. Instead of sitting upon their usual milk stools, however, they took rest on a small pile of hay. He reached up and gathered the collar of his cloak tightly around her neck. 

“Warm enough?”

“Yes, thank you.” She smiled. “Are you?” she asked, noticing the damp chill of the barn.

“Why, Miss Granger! Be careful what you say. One may think you’ve come to care for me.” His voice was teasing and she was grateful for the shadows of the candlelight that hid her blush. 

“It is rather cold in here, though, and it shall only get colder. Perhaps you should move to one of the old servants’ quarters in the house.”

“Wouldn’t your mistress object?” 

“It’s not uncommon for us to take on extra help. You have been working for your supper all this time. Besides, she hasn’t noticed you yet. She never goes into the servants’ quarters.”

“Your mistress is not very observant about her household,” he noted.

She smiled wryly. “She prefers to remain unaware of the more _unpleasant_ things in life.”

There was something in her voice that bothered Draco. “What else does she consider ‘unpleasant?’”

Hermione looked at him sharply and shook her head. “I’ve already said too much. Let us talk of happy things,” she said before smoothly changing the subject. “My mistress will be going away for Samhain celebrations. I think we should do something naughty!”

His eyebrows shot upward. “I do believe that I am worried for my virtue.”

She scoffed at him. “There you go again! You always turn my words into something unseemly!”

“It cannot be helped, I’m afraid. Your reactions to my impropriety are far too enjoyable.”

She pursed her lips in a pretty moue of frustration, which only delighted him more. This was becoming a frequent game of theirs. Draco knew that she would remain silent until he cajoled her into speaking again. He enjoyed it for a moment longer before finally conceding. 

“Well, Miss Granger, are you not going to share what wicked shenanigans a kind-hearted soul like yourself would want to do?”

She turned her nose into the air. “I’m not sure that I should, if you’re only going to mock me for them.”

“Oh, come now. You know that I was only teasing.” Giving her his best pleading look, he watched as the ice in her eyes melted away and she gave in. 

Granger’s face lit up with excitement as she told him her plan. “I was thinking that, with the mistress away, we could have a celebration of our own. I can make us dinner and we can sit in the dining room like a proper lady and gentleman.”

If she was willing to break the rules for this, then it must be something that she really wanted. A small stab of sadness poked at his heart. This thing that she desired was something that he had on a daily basis. He had never realized before that perhaps he had taken being treated a certain way for granted. 

Pushing those feelings aside, he played along. “Can we forget about chores for the day?”

“Yes! Well, except for milking Bessie. She gets awfully fractious when she hasn’t been milked,” she said seriously.

He smiled at her conscientiousness. Even when taking the day off, she was still concerned with her responsibilities. “Would this scheme please you, Granger?”

She nodded. “Yes. It would make me most happy.”

“Then happy you shall be.”

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Draco woke to a bit of straw poking him in the ear. Had he rolled off his pallet? His stomach ached with hunger, and the night before came rushing back to him. He hadn’t eaten supper. Granger had fallen on it.

Granger.

They had talked well into the night. He had spent most of the evening riling her up, as he enjoyed watching her spring to life when her convictions were challenged. She seemed to have an opinion about everything. 

They had somehow gotten onto the topic of Muggle-born witches and wizards. For some reason, that particular conversation stuck out in his mind. 

“Have you ever met a witch or wizard born to Muggles?” Her voice had been almost… hopeful.

Shaking his head, he replied, “No. I have only heard tell of them. My father says they’re nothing but a bunch of Mudbloods tainting the wizarding world.”

At that, her eyes had flashed in anger. He also thought that he might have seen a hint of hurt, but that made no sense to him.

“Why would your father say something like that? One cannot help the situation into which one has been born! What if you had been born without magic?”

He pondered for a moment before answering. “Had I been born without magic, then I would be considered a squib. It would have been most unfortunate.”

“Can a squib choose to be without magic?”

“No, of course not! They come into the world without it.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew that he had proven her point.

She threw his words back at him. “Then perhaps Muggles who are born with magic happen to come into the world with it. They do not choose it.”

Draco did not argue with her logic, but he was curious as to why she reacted so passionately to the subject. “Why does this infuriate you so?”

Sighing, her demeanor softened. “I do not think it fair to discriminate against anyone for being something that they did not choose to be. How would you like it if someone disliked you for having blond hair?”

“That, m’lady, is impossible.”

“How so?”

“Well, because my blond hair makes me quite handsome. Thus, it would be impossible to dislike,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood, which had become too somber. When she chuckled, he sighed internally in relief. 

They moved from topic to topic, sharing many smiles and many arguments. In the back of his mind, Draco vaguely remembered his old tutor telling him of a student he taught of Muggle descent who was extremely bright. He dimly wondered what had happened to that student. He had most likely gone on to Hogwarts. Had he been discriminated against because of his heritage? 

My, how Granger exhausted his mind! How did she have room in her head for so many thoughts?

They had conversed about everything under the sun until she had started to drift off. She had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Barely able to keep his eyes open himself, he had settled her onto the hay with care and--

Eyes flying open, he found himself nose-to-nose with her. Her face was so close that Draco could feel the puffs of breath escaping her lips. The candles had long since died out, but early morning light slipped between the cracks in the wood that made up the barn wall and he could just make out the freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose. 

Granger was still wearing his cloak, but it had shifted during the night and slipped from her shoulder, baring it to the elements. The little skin that he could see was milky and smooth. The thin shift she wore did little to conceal her form, which he could plainly see was rather feminine. Draco felt his mouth go dry. He would never have guessed that, under her shapeless dresses, she had hidden a very womanly figure. She was small, but curvy. His eyes followed the smooth line of her throat down to a shadowy hint of cleavage. Her breasts were full and round, her waist curved in to a tempting slope, and her hips rounded back out appealingly. 

An unexpected simmer of desire began to awaken in his groin. Draco was not an innocent. Being a prominent member of a royal family had offered him a great many rewards, including propositions from the fairer sex. His natural charm, combined with his position of power, had led scores of women to practically throw themselves at him. 

As a wizard prince, he had his pick of women, from the lowest trollop to the most noble of maidens. 

Yet he found himself strongly attracted to this Muggle servant girl. Yes, if he wanted, he could use his charisma to lure her into a sordid situation. But he could not. He had come to genuinely like her; the idea of perverting their friendship for a night of lust that would leave her a ruined woman made him feel ill.

Draco could not have her, no matter how much he wanted her. 

She began to stir, and Draco closed his eyes and feigned sleep. He heard Granger let out a startled gasp before moving around frantically. She left his side in haste, and he heard the rustle of cloth as she dressed. 

Before leaving the barn, she draped his cloak, still warm from her body, over him. The tender gesture made his chest ache. After she had gone, he opened his eyes and his mind began battling with his heart.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Hermione’s face was still pink as she rushed into her room and changed her clothes. Though it had been perfectly innocent, she had lain next to a man who was not her husband wearing nothing but a shift. It was indecent!

Pushing the confusing thoughts into the back of her mind, she concentrated on her chores. She skipped some of her usual early tasks in favor of preparing breakfast. Her stepmother was going to skin her alive!

Hermione prepared a meal of eggs, sausage, and toast and placed it on a fine china plate. Placing the meal on a tray with the silver tea service, she carried it carefully to the dining room. As she feared, Rodmilla was already seated at the table with a stern look on her face.

“Good morning, Stepmother,” she greeted, her eyes lowered.

Rodmilla’s only response was a cold silence.

Hermione went about setting breakfast before the older woman, serving tea just as she had been taught all those years ago. Once she was finished, she curtseyed and turned to leave her stepmother to her meal. She had almost made it to the door and was ready to sigh in relief when she heard her name called behind her.

“Hermione.” Rodmilla’s tone was just as severe as her expression. “I do not like to be kept waiting. Why were you late with breakfast?”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she replied, “I overslept, Stepmother. I apologize.”

The older woman’s lips thinned in disgust. “Overslept? You are no longer a child, Hermione. I will not tolerate your impudence.” She slipped her wand out of her pocket. “Now that you are grown, I feel that you should understand that there are consequences to your disobedience.”

For the first time in her life, Hermione felt a fear of magic. Her stepmother had hexed her in the past, but never with anything severe. The look in the woman’s eyes now, however, revealed a cruelty that scared her.

“Crucio,” she whispered calmly. Hermione screamed in agony. It felt as if she were being pricked with thousands of tiny, sharp needles. Her stepmother only held the curse for a few seconds before breaking it. Hermione fell to the floor crying, her forehead covered in beads of perspiration.

“Next time you disregard me, Mudblood, your punishment will be worse. You are dismissed.” Rodmilla then returned to her meal, ignoring Hermione as she rose to her feet and stumbled from the room. 

The chores that day seemed to take twice as long. There was no part of her body that did not hurt. The pain of the curse had caused every muscle to tense simultaneously, leaving her feeling stiff and her head aching.

She had never imagined that her stepmother would use an Unforgivable Curse. If Rodmilla was caught, she could be sent to prison. However, Hermione knew that would never happen. How could one get caught outside of the wizarding world?

Frightened by what had happened, she hid from Malfoy for fear that she might burst into tears in front of him. Perhaps he would see her avoidance as embarrassment for falling asleep next to him. However, she did not want him to go without another meal, so she waited until he was otherwise occupied before sneaking food out to the barn for him. 

As the day neared its end, Hermione decided to treat herself to a warm bath. The process of carrying bucket after bucket of water to a tub was exhausting, but as she sunk into the water, she sighed in contentment and knew that it had been worth it.

It had been a tumultuous day, and she was grateful for the time to relax and be alone with her thoughts. She admitted to herself that she had come to fancy her bandit. Yes, he occasionally frustrated her beyond all reason, but he also made her laugh and think. She really didn’t mind their argumentative banter, either. If anything, it made her feel alive. She had suppressed the fire within her for so long, it felt good to let it burn freely again. 

He was the first person since her father to encourage her to talk and actually listen to her. 

As much as she liked Malfoy, though, she had to be practical. Hermione knew that he would one day have to leave. Briefly, she considered running away with him, but he seemed to hold himself back in regards to her and she wasn’t confident that he’d allow her to go with him. 

So, with silent tears, she accepted that it was her lot in life to be stuck living the rest of her days serving her ungrateful stepmother.

With a sigh, Hermione stood up from her bath and toweled herself off. She’d empty the water tomorrow. She pulled on her nightgown and her thick, wool stockings. Winter was coming, and her room was drafty. Settling into her bed, she pulled the patchwork quilt up to her neck.

Hermione was just starting to drift off to sleep when she heard a light rapping at her window. Thinking it was an owl from Harry, she jumped up and opened it only to see Malfoy staring back at her.

“What’s wrong?” He had never come to the house at night before.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before muttering, “Are you well?”

“What?” She was tired and confused and emotionally overwrought. 

“I have not seen you all day. I came to see if you are well.” His face was pale with worry.

“Oh.” She felt stupid. Hermione had not imagined that he might fret over her absence. “Yes, I am well. Tired, but nothing more.”

Malfoy took in her eyes, glossy from tears, and her pink face. “Are you upset with me?”

“No!” she cried, shaking her head emphatically. “The day was just a busy one. I will see you tomorrow. I promise.” Smiling, she tried to shoo him away.

“If you are not angry with me, then something else is the matter. You are not acting like yourself, Granger.” He could be just as stubborn as she, and her behavior was making him nervous. “You have been crying!”

Suddenly infuriated by his inquiries, she burst into tears. “You have not known me long enough to know how I act! I will see you tomorrow!” With that, she shut the window and closed the drapes. Throwing herself on her bed, she cried herself into a dreamless sleep with Crookshanks cuddled next to her for comfort. 

Malfoy was baffled by what had just happened. He had been horrified when she’d started crying like that. Never had he dealt with a girl in tears before. Clearly, he had handled it poorly.

Left with no other options, he shuffled back to the barn and went to bed.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

There was a great tension between them over the next few days, but they eventually fell back into their comfortable routine of working and bickering. Neither mentioned the night he had come to her window. He observed, however, that she no longer lingered for conversation at the day’s end, and she now took her supper inside the house.

Two days prior to Samhain, Draco noticed a carriage departing the property. Granger had not mentioned her plans to celebrate since the night that they had fallen asleep together in the barn. 

“Granger, I saw that your mistress has taken her leave. Shall we begin reveling in her absence?” He gave her a teasing grin, hoping to coax some mischievousness out of her.

He hadn’t expected her to shake her head, her face suddenly pale. “No. I do not think that is a good idea anymore.”

Bewildered by the recent change in her, he asked, “Why not? Did you not say that it would make you happy?”

“Well, yes.” She seemed hesitant. 

“Do you no longer feel that way?”

“I… yes, I do. However--”

He cut her off, leaving no room for argument. “Then happy you shall be!”

The indecision battled in her eyes before she finally bit her lip and nodded at him. Sensing what was bothering her, he said, “Your mistress will not return until at least two days after Samhain. We will clean up everything before then. She will never know, Granger. You will not be in any trouble.”

Logically, Hermione knew that he was right, but the knowledge of the severity of punishment that potentially awaited her still lingered in the back of her mind. 

In the days leading up to their evening of festivities, they worked twice as hard to make sure that everything was accomplished before their day off. Silverware was polished and furniture dusted. Floors were swept and eggs gathered. Malfoy made sure that there was enough wood to last for several days. 

Nothing would stand in their way on their special day. 

The morning of Samhain, Hermione took care of the cow because she was still better at milking than her bandit. After she’d returned to the house, milk bucket in hand, she began working on all the preparations for supper. Malfoy had thankfully slain and cleaned the turkey the day before. It would take several hours to roast, so she laid out the rest of the fixings that needed to be cooked.

Hermione still had some time to spare, and she wondered if she could--

Her thoughts were interrupted by a rustling from her quarters. Stepping into the room, she saw Malfoy standing next to a tub of warm water.

“I thought m’lady would perhaps like to bathe before this evening’s supper.”

She looked at him with the sweetest look of gratitude and his heart swelled. 

Hermione turned and looked at the bedroom door, then back at him.

“How did you get the water in here without going through the kitchen? I would have seen you.”

“Uh…” He was suddenly uncharacteristically shy. “I brought it through the window.”

She laughed heartily. “You’ve been climbing in and out of the window?!” 

Shifting embarrassedly, he didn’t answer. He felt a little silly, but he had wanted to surprise her.

“Did you not use magic?” The accusation was a playful one. She raised her brows and quirked her mouth, as if she was trying to hold back a grin.

He shook his head. “You did not use magic to draw a bath for me, so I thought it only fair to return the favor in the same manner. This repays the favor equally.”

Hermione’s mouth bloomed into a full smile. She was genuinely touched.

“Thank you, Malfoy. It is wonderful.” In truth, it was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her in a very long while. The thought made her eyes a little dewy. 

“Better get to it before the water cools.” Still a little uncomfortable, he gave a small nod of his head and made a hasty exit.

Stripping off her clothes, she sunk into the bath, exhaling at its exquisite warmth. The water was fragrant, and only then did she notice that he had somehow found dried lavender as it was peppered into the water.

It was truly the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. 

Hermione had plenty of time, so she indulged in her bath until the water turned tepid. She decided that tonight was special. After such a luxury, even _she_ felt special. Tonight, she would not be a common servant girl. Tonight, she would be a lady.

Opening her trunk, she rummaged through her clothes to find something appropriate for the evening. At the bottom lay a beautiful dress. When her father had remarried, the first thing Rodmilla had done was to throw away all the things that had belonged to her husband’s previous wife. Hermione had managed to hide this one thing and keep it for herself.

It was a simply cut, pale blue gown with bits of delicate lace on the collar and cuffs. It wasn’t fancy by any means, but it was the nicest thing she owned.

Sliding it on, she was grateful to find that her mother had been her size. The bodice hugged her waist as if it had been made just for her. She did not have a looking-glass, so she hoped that it looked as good as it felt. 

Forgoing her usual braid, she left her riotous curls hanging down her back. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her room.

The kitchen was empty. She went to check on the turkey, but it was gone, as were all the vegetables that she had laid out earlier. Confused, she made her way into the dining room and found Malfoy standing there. The food was already on the table, and two settings were in place. 

“M’lady,” he greeted her.

“You finished cooking the supper?”

“I have been watching you do it for the last several weeks. I think I managed quite well, all things considered.”

“Why?”

“Granger, stop questioning me and come sit.” He held out a chair for her. 

Timidly, she walked over and sat down as he pushed in her chair.

“Everything looks wonderful,” she said. It really did look perfect.

“Don’t be impressed just yet.” Malfoy took his own seat across from her. “The taste of my cooking may not live up to your expectations.”

She chuckled at that and the tension broke. The meal was lovely, with the exception of the potatoes, which were just a bit undercooked. They shared wine and laughter and thoughtful conversation for hours when Draco suddenly had an idea.

“This is not yet a proper Samhain celebration!” His excessive exuberance made it clear that he had imbibed too much.

Granger laughed. “Why not?”

“We have not danced!”

“Oh!” She looked at him uncertainly. “I do not know--”

“You do not know how to dance? Come! I will teach you!” Jumping up, he reached out for her hand, but she simply looked at him.

“I know a little, but--”

Tired of her excuses, Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the chair. They were both a little tipsy, and their mutual lack of coordination sent them crashing into each other. In order to keep her from falling backward, he wrapped his hands firmly around her waist.

“Easy there!” His eyes were hooded and teasing as he stood there, holding her and staring. Hermione looked up at him, but did not step away from his embrace.

“What are you thinking?” The atmosphere had become intimate, so she kept her voice low for fear of destroying it.

“I’m thinking that I like your hair like that. I like you dressed like this.” His breath hitched. “I think that you’re the most magnificent creature I have ever encountered.”

Hermione’s cheeks were already rosy from the wine, but being so close to a handsome man telling her that he found her attractive made her blush even more furiously.

Malfoy swooped in and kissed her, gripping her even tighter than before. Squeaking at the intensity of it, she grasped at his arms, her heart pounding.

The moment took her breath away. She knew that she should push him away. It was unseemly, really. They were alone without an escort and they were not engaged. Yet the soft caresses of his lips were intoxicating and she did not want the moment to end. 

Reluctantly, he pulled away and looked at her, leaving them both gasping for air.

“I think…” He stopped and swallowed hard. “I think that we have now properly celebrated Samhain.”

Hermione gave a dazed nod in response. They slowly disentangled from one another, sliding apart until all that was touching was their hands. He brought them up to his face so he could kiss her knuckles.

“Good night, m’lady.” Malfoy stared at her longingly with his granite-colored eyes.

“Good night,” she whispered, as he took his leave.

As soon as she heard him exit the house and head towards the barn, she dashed to her room and shut the door. 

This night! This beautiful, glorious, perfect night! Giddily, she twirled around, her skirt swishing around her ankles. Collapsing on her dingy straw bed, Hermione brought her hands to her swollen lips.

Her cat sniffed her before curling up next to her on the bed.

“Oh, Crooks! I don’t know how I’ll be able to go back to ordinary life after this night!” Cuddling her furry companion, she smiled contentedly.

Little did she know that her bandit was thinking the same thing, though unhappily. After tonight, Draco knew he had to return home and leave her behind. He had never meant for to go this far, for her to become too close.

She went to sleep that night with her heart full, while his was breaking.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´


	3. Chapter 3

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

The next day was more difficult than Draco could have ever imagined. All morning, Granger kept giving him shy glances from under her lashes, sometimes smiling and blushing before turning away. 

They were the tenderhearted looks that a girl usually reserved for her sweetheart. 

He felt that he didn’t deserve this adoration from her. He wanted desperately to accept it, but he could not.

He could not accept it because he had a duty to fulfill, one that he had known about his whole life. Draco’s future had been laid out for him from birth. There were many times over the years when he had rebelled against it, become angry over it, or been sad about it.

This was the first time that he was genuinely considering throwing it all away. All because he desired her in a way that he had never felt before. He yearned and ached for her, deep down in his soul. 

Yet he could not do it. The thought of discarding his life in favor of a Muggle girl whom he had known for less than two months was utterly mad. It mattered not that Granger was extraordinary in both beauty and brilliance. He could not stomach the disappointment he knew he would see in his father’s eyes. 

Draco’s heart would thrust and his mind parried as indecision warred within him, until at last, he came to an uneasy conclusion. 

It was late afternoon and the sky was a dull grey; the air held a misty chill. The days had become shorter, and dusk would be upon them soon. He asked her to take a stroll with him, and she quickly agreed, donning her shawl for warmth. 

“You really should get a proper cloak,” he chided her. 

They walked along a nearby lake, finally ending up on a footbridge that spanned a narrow part of the water. Leaning on the railing, she looked out into the distance. Even in the bleak, fading light and her colorless clothes, she was a sight to behold.

Draco breathed in heavily, the crisp air stinging his nostrils.

“Granger?”

She turned to face him with those big brown eyes, and for the briefest of moments, Draco allowed himself one last flight of fancy of staying with her before stifling it completely. 

“I have to leave.” It came out barely a whisper, but she heard it anyway; if not through his words, then by the look on his face.

The eyes in which he had nearly lost himself moments before became glossy with tears.

“Why?”

“I…” He swallowed as he searched for the right words. “I cannot stay here. It is not where I belong, and I have things to which I must attend.”

Always the clever one, Granger somehow read between the lines. “This is because of what I am. Or perhaps more because of what I am not.”

How could he reply to that? How could he tell her that her Muggle heritage was an insurmountable obstacle and that he could not be with her because of it? So he told her the truth as best he could without saying the actual words. 

“I am a coward of the worst kind.”

Granger bit her bottom lip, but he could still see it trembling as her tears made their escape down her cheeks. Turning her back to him, she hid her face so he wouldn’t see her cry. Her shoulders hitched, followed by a muffled sob. The sound tore through him. 

He couldn’t do this.

The thought of his father’s disapproval now seemed miniscule next to her heartache. Draco would not forsake his kingdom, but he would not abandon her, either. He would figure out a way to have both. He was the sole heir, after all. The king could accept it or be damned. 

“Granger?” His voice held new conviction, but she seemed not to notice. 

“I understand, Mal… Malfoy,” she stuttered between shuddering breaths. She whirled around to look at him. “I--”

Before she could finish her thought, the bridge railing gave way and Hermione lost her foothold, sending her crashing into the dark, freezing water below.

“GRANGER!”

Malfoy tossed his cloak aside with haste and dove in after her. It felt as though the bitterly cold water was searing his skin. The pain quickly turned into numbness, and his muscles moved sluggishly. He had to find her quickly, before his body gave in to the cold.

The fates smiled down upon him; she had not drifted far. Wrapping his arms around her, Draco pulled her to the water’s edge before dragging her to shore. 

“Granger?!” His teeth chattered as he tapped the side of her face and tried to rouse her, but she did not wake. Darkness was now creeping in on them, and he could not see the extent of her injury. Pulling his wand out, the magic coursed through his hand as he cast his first spell in nearly two months.

“Lumos!”

Her face was pale as death, and her full lips, normally a ripe pink, were now an icy blue. Upon further inspection, he realized that her chest was not rising and falling as it should.

She was not breathing.

Panicked, he took his wand in hand again and shouted, “Rennervate!” 

Her eyes shot open, and she began to cough up water. Helping her roll onto her side, he cast an Anapneo spell so that she could clear her airway more easily. Once finished, she crumbled back onto the ground, shivering and barely awake. 

“Hold on, Granger,” he said, gasping heavily from his own exertion. “Please, just hold on.”

Draco performed a drying spell on himself and felt somewhat better once he was no longer cold and wet. He turned his wand on her next, but while the spell seemed to help considerably, the heavy wool dress didn’t dry completely.

“Accio cloak!” 

The black robe flew through the darkness and into his hands. Flattening it on the ground, he gently placed her in the middle of it, wrapping the edges snugly around her before picking her up in his arms.

Pressing his lips to her brow, Draco began the trek back to the house, afraid that he would hurt her if he tried Apparation. She was not large by any means, but carrying her dead weight had his arms trembling by the time they reached her room. Placing her with care on the paillasse, he cast an Incendio at the hearth and brought the fire roaring back to life. 

Granger’s skin still felt clammy and held a sickly pallor that he found worrisome. Choosing her survival over propriety, he slipped his cloak from her shoulders and began unbuttoning her still wet dress. Draco attempted to preserve her modesty by averting his eyes as much as he could, making the process of undressing her rather difficult. But this was not the time to take advantage of seeing her silky smooth skin. He needed to warm her up.

Once she was completely disrobed, he swiftly covered her with a blanket. He then shrugged out of his own clothes and slipped under the blanket himself, wrapping his arms around her shivering form, hissing when he felt the chilled skin of her back press into his chest. 

Burying his nose into her hair, he whispered promises to her that he intended to keep if she would only wake up.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Severus Snape had seen many unusual things in his lifetime, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him. Two of his former students, one of royal pureblood lineage and the other a Muggle-born sentenced to servitude, lay intimately intertwined. Both appeared to be nude.

As if feeling Snape’s eyes upon him, Draco stirred and was startled to see his former teacher in the doorway.

“Snape?!”

“Your Highness,” said Snape, greeting him with a bow. “I see you’ve met Miss Granger.”

“You know Granger?”

“Clearly not as well as you, Master Draco,” he replied dryly. 

The young man’s face darkened with displeasure at Snape’s implication.

“Mr. Snape, please do keep in mind that things are not always as they appear. I assure you that nothing untoward has happened. Miss Granger is a lady, and I will not have you insinuating otherwise.” Malfoy’s tone was authoritative and serious.

Snape raised his eyebrows. He really had not expected that reaction. It seemed that the prince bore some affection for the girl. Had he been staying here all this time?

“Of course, sir. I apologize for my crudeness.” His words were sincere.

Draco lowered his eyes in sadness. “She is ill. She fell into the lake last night, and she was deathly cold when I rescued her. I attempted to help her, but still, she does not wake.”

Snape’s expression changed to one of concern. “I shall Apparate to Spinner’s End at once and gather some potions that may help. I will make haste, Your Highness.”

With a pop, Snape arrived at his home and began gathering various bottles of potions that he thought might help. He was glancing over the phials one last time when his eyes landed on one made of blue glass. After hesitating for the briefest of moments, he carefully picked it up with a handkerchief. He had a sinking suspicion that he was going to need it.

Hurrying back to the Granger home, he was grateful to find that Draco had dressed and that Hermione was now in a plain white shift. Distraught, the prince looked up at him.

“She has become feverish.”

The old tutor knelt on the stone floor beside the paillasse, pressing the back of his hand to the girl’s forehead. She was quite warm indeed. With a wave of his wand, Severus lowered the flames in the fireplace and opened the window to allow in the cool autumn air. Pulling out one of the bottles, he instructed Draco to lift her head and shoulders so that he could pour the magic liquid down her throat. 

Once finished, the prince lowered her head back down to the bed roll with a careful gentleness that his teacher had never seen in him before. 

Draco interrupted his thoughts. “How did you find me?”

“There is a locator charm on your wand. It can only be traced when the wand is used.” He looked at the prince. “You’ve been gone a long time without using magic, Master Draco. Your father has been beside himself with worry. Some have even begun to suggest that you might be dead.”

The young man had the good grace to look somewhat ashamed. 

“Have you been here all this time?” asked Snape.

“Yes,” he confessed. “I had not intended on staying away so long, I just…” He swallowed hard, and his eyes drifted over to the girl still sleeping on the paillasse, whose color was now looking healthier than before. Draco reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingers. “I became very fascinated with the Muggle world.”

Observing the look of tenderness and affection the prince was giving the girl, Snape knew that getting Draco to leave her would be a difficult task.

Severus cleared his throat. “Master Draco, can you please hand me the blue phial from my bag?”

“Of course.” He left Hermione’s side and moved over to the bag of potions in order to pull out the requested bottle. As soon as he touched it, the bottle began to glow. Snape caught Draco’s brief look of surprise and anger before the Portkey whisked him away.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Hermione woke up feeling as if her lungs were being crushed. When she tried to take a breath, her chest rattled and caused her to cough until it ached.

A hand cradled her head, lifting it just long enough to pour a liquid into her mouth. It trickled down her throat and warmth spread throughout her chest. 

“Welcome back, Miss Granger.” The voice was deep and had a familiar rhythm.

With eyes still heavy with sleep, her gaze drifted to the gentleman sitting next to her cot.

“Mr. Snape?”

“Rest, child. It seems that you’ve had quite an adventure.”

“Malfoy?” Her question was filled with quiet hopefulness.

Snape looked at her queerly. “Malfoy?”

Hermione tried to describe him, but her body was exhausted from her ordeal. She was only able to force out a few words in between labored breaths. “Blond. Boy. Been helping. Sleeping in barn.”

His face filled with understanding. “I’m sorry, my dear. Mr. Malfoy had to take his leave.”

Her chest began to ache again, but for an entirely different reason. Mr. Snape had no magic potions to soothe this pain. She tried, in vain, to keep the devastation from showing in her eyes, but she did not have the strength to keep up the pretense. Hermione’s face crumpled, and tears threatened to be shed.

Snape was stunned. The last time he had seen this girl cry was upon the death of her father. Now here he was again, and he was still unsure how to comfort her. 

How had this happened? She referred to him as “Malfoy,” yet seemed unaware of his station. To her, he was just a boy who had been helping with the farm. Clearly, he was also a boy for whom she had a great deal of affection, perhaps even a boy that she loved. 

Young Master Draco appeared to have shared some of those feelings. He had been fiercely protective of her the night before, and Snape knew he was in for an earful when he saw him next. 

Perhaps this was the answer to everything. That is, if this was indeed a love match. 

Severus spent the rest of the day caring for Hermione, all the while working on a potential plan that might right a few wrongs.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

“How dare you?!”

Snape had only just entered the castle when he had been summoned to the prince’s rooms immediately. He had known that it would happen, but he hadn’t thought that it would happen so fast. 

“Your Highness.” He bowed in respect to the younger man.

Draco wasn’t having it. “Enough of that! I want to know why!”

“I was under the orders of the king.”

“Yes, I know all about that. I’ve already had that lecture, and I’m bound to the castle until further notice.” He paced back and forth like a caged animal. “I want to know why you didn’t speak to me first before tricking me into coming back.”

“Would you have left her?”

Draco stopped suddenly, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “At least tell me if she is well.”

“Miss Granger was in good health when I saw her last.”

The blond man sighed with relief and turned to his former teacher. “She was your student.” 

It was not a question, so Snape did not answer.

“That’s how you knew her. That’s why she knows so much about magic. She was your brilliant Muggle-born pupil.” 

“Yes,” he confirmed matter-of-factly. “Hermione Granger was once under my tutelage.”

“Hermione.” Draco breathed her name as if it was the sweetest thing that he’d ever heard. “Why does she not use magic? Should she not be studying at Hogwarts?”

“It is not my place to answer those questions, sir.” 

“I have to see her again. Right away!”

“Your Highness, you cannot leave this castle again. You’ve tested your father’s patience once already.” Deciding to push the boundaries, Snape continued, “Would you risk his anger again for a Mudblood?”

The prince’s pale skin flushed, and his face twisted into a snarl. “You will _not_ besmirch her name with that foul word! She is ten times the person that you or my father could ever hope to be!”

The teacher smirked, which only made Draco’s blood boil further. He rushed towards the older man and yelled in his face. “Why are you smiling?!” 

“I apologize for the slur against Miss Granger, but I had to be sure, Your Highness.”

“Sure of what?”

“That you care for her.”

Draco paused in surprise and confusion, then narrowed his eyes. “Why does it matter to you how I feel about her?”

“Because, Master Draco, I have a plan that could potentially satisfy all parties involved. However, it is a great risk, especially to Miss Granger. She has had much heartache in her life, and I do not wish to cause her more.”

While the prince didn’t like to think of his Granger being at risk for more heartache, his curiosity was piqued.

“Tell me this idea, Mr. Snape. What can be done to bring us together?”

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Hermione snapped the freshly laundered sheets into the air before allowing them to float down to the bed. The silver was polished, the hearth was crackling with a warm fire, and now the beds were made.

Daphne and Astoria were coming home for the Christmas holidays.

It had been nearly two months since Hermione had seen her bandit. It felt like a lifetime. 

She wondered where he was on this snowy evening. Was he warm enough? Had he eaten? Hermione knew that she shouldn’t worry. After all, he had made the choice to leave, and he clearly wanted nothing to do with her anymore, but she couldn’t help herself.

He was not a very good bandit! What if he had been caught and jailed? 

The sound of hoofbeats coming up the drive startled her from her thoughts. Sighing, she pushed her musings aside. Her sisters were home.

Hermione greeted them at the door, and as usual, her stepmother tossed her cloak into her arms without so much as looking at her. Daphne followed her mother’s example, but gave her stepsister a haughty look out of the corner of her eye. Astoria was the only one to grace her with her full attention.

“Hello, Hermione.” Smiling, she gently handed over her cloak.

“Welcome home, Astoria,” she said, as she smiled back appreciatively.

With the girls home, Hermione’s workload grew considerably, but she was grateful for the distraction. The days went by more quickly, and she had less time to think of Malfoy. 

However, it did sting whenever she heard her stepsisters talking animatedly with their mother about the excitement of school. She couldn’t help but feel envious. They were experiencing the joy of learning about magic. How wonderful it must be to attend a school like that: a whole school just filled with it.

What hurt even more was the knowledge that, had she been able to realize her full potential as a witch, then maybe her bandit would not have deemed her unworthy. Of course, her logic piped in to remind her that had she been away at school, she would never have met him in the first place. 

One evening, a flurry of excitement came over the house as a result of an unexpected owl post delivery.

“Oh, Mummy!” Daphne happily shrieked. “A ball! There’s going to be a royal ball! And we are invited!”

“My darling, let me see!” Daphne handed over the invitation, and Rodmilla read it aloud. “His Majesty, King Lucius of Malfoy, cordially invites you to the New Year’s Eve Ball to be held in honor of his son, Prince Draco.” 

Astoria jumped and danced in the middle of the drawing room. “I got one, too!”

Rodmilla’s eyes filled with pleasure at the prospect of her girls being invited to a royal ball. There would be many rich and eligible young men in need of comely brides in attendance. Daphne picked up on her mother’s thoughts.

“There was a rumor going around school that the king is pushing for his son to marry. Perhaps that is the purpose of this ball: to find the prince a wife.”

Their mother gave a scheming grin. “Well, then I suppose that you and Astoria should put your best assets forward and do your best to secure a dance with him. I’d rather fancy a royal wedding.”

They giggled and put their heads together, paying no attention to the girl standing in the doorway. 

Hermione’s mind was racing. King Lucius of Malfoy? Malfoy? That was her bandit’s name. That made no sense. Had he given her a false name? 

Then the next part hit her, and she felt queasy. Draco was Latin for dragon. Draco was Mr. Snape’s missing student with “family obligations.” He had gone missing the same day that she’d met the bandit, a boy who had suddenly had to leave because there were “things to which he had to attend.”

Oh no! Had her bandit been the prince? 

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, and her eyes widened in horror at the thought. If he was the prince, she had made him sleep in a barn and chop wood! And he had kissed her!

She blushed with shame. 

Then her embarrassment turned to annoyance. If he was a prince, then he had lied to her and conned her into kissing him. All this time she had been worrying about him, and he was enjoying a regal, down-covered life. 

Maybe he was a better bandit than she had thought. He had swindled her, after all.

He had also callously stolen her heart.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

The Christmas holiday flew by, and before Hermione knew it, the evening of the ball was upon them. The day had been exhausting for her, as she’d had to prepare baths for both of her stepsisters and her stepmother, which mean a lot of time hauling water in and out of the house.

Daphne was the last to require a bath, and even though Hermione’s back ached and her fingers were sore, she managed to set one up for her.

Her stepsister seemed less than happy, however, and wrinkled her nose in distaste at the bath. “You forgot the lavender!”

“There is no lavender, Daphne.” It was the truth. The bottle that had once held the dried lavender flowers was now sitting empty on her bureau.

“There was plenty when I left for school! What did you do with it?!” She was squealing like a pig.

“I swear, I didn’t take it!” Hermione’s protests went unheard.

“You did! I don’t know why a stupid Mudblood like you would need it, though. You probably took it out of spite!”

Rodmilla stormed into the room. “What on Earth is going on in here? I can hear you all the way from downstairs.”

Daphne pointed a finger at Hermione. “She stole my dried lavender flowers! They were here when I left for Hogwarts, and now they’re gone!”

Hermione’s stepmother looked at her coldly. “Go to your room, Hermione. I don’t have time to deal with you now, but you will be punished later.”

Hermione knew what punishment would mean and shuddered at the thought.

“Please, Stepmother, I didn’t--”

Rodmilla grabbed her arm tightly and dragged her from the room and down the stairs. When they reached the servant’s quarters, Hermione was shoved inside her room so hard that she fell onto her hands and knees.

Her stepmother gave her a glare that sent chills down her spine. “I want you to stay in this room while we are gone and think about what I’m going to do to you when I get back.”

With that, the door was shut and locked from the outside. 

Hermione crawled to her straw bed and cried, trembling in fear at what awaited her later that night.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Severus Snape hid in the shadows and watched as the carriage carrying the Greengrass witches pulled away from the house. He waited until they were out of sight before making his way inside, through the kitchen, and stopping at the door of the room where he knew Hermione slept. Stopping short at the latch, he noticed that it had been barred from the outside.

Furrowing his brow, he performed a quick spell and opened the door. 

Hermione scrambled from her paillasse and stood upright, her face still damp with tears. 

“Mr. Snape?” she asked confusedly. 

“Miss Granger,” he greeted, somewhat disturbed by the evidence that she had been crying. “Are you well?”

Still perplexed, she nodded. “Yes, I… what are you doing here?”

Pulling an envelope from his pocket, he handed it to her. “I am here on the orders of His Royal Highness, Prince Draco of Malfoy, who requested that I personally hand-deliver this invitation.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but she was at a loss for words and settled for gaping.

“You see,” Snape continued, “all witches of a certain age were invited to attend tonight. An invitation had been sent to you, but judging by your surprise, you did not receive it.”

She shook her head. He had suspected as much. Knowing that Rodmilla would withhold the invitation from her, Snape had convinced Draco that he needed to deliver one to her by hand. 

Hermione stared down at the envelope, on which her name was written in elegant lettering. “How? I am Muggle-born and have not properly learned magic.”

“It does not matter. The invitations were all addressed by a spell. The only stipulations were that the recipients were female, between the ages of 15 and 22, and of magical blood.”

Taking in what her former teacher was saying, Hermione quickly put two and two together. “So, it is true? The purpose of this ball is to find the prince a wife?”

Not one to mince words, Snape replied bluntly, “Yes. As each young lady walks through the entrance to the ball, a spell is placed over her. Once the prince touches the hand of his true match, the magic will let him know.” He stopped to clear his throat. “He has high hopes for you, so perhaps you should stop dawdling and get ready.”

Hermione looked down at her clothes fretfully. “I have nothing to wear!”

“Hmm… I suppose a transfiguration will have to do.” Pulling his wand from his pocket, he performed a silent spell. Hermione had expected her dress to change, but it did not. Instead, a wooden box floated into his hands. Tapping the lid, the box snapped open.

Nestled inside was something that she had not seen in six years. It was her beautiful vine wand. 

“I’m afraid I know nothing of ladies’ fashion, so I shall have to leave this to you. I’m sure you can do it. After all, you _are_ a witch.”

Hesitantly, she reached forward and took the slim wooden wand from the box, magic flowing through her veins at its touch. It took a few tries, but with her natural talent and the years she’d spent studying texts, she finally managed to transform her appearance. 

Her dress changed from drab grey wool to a silvery blue silk. The neckline was modest, but showed a bit of shoulder. Her waist cinched into a bodice that flared into a full skirt embroidered with the tiniest of flowers. 

Her hair tightened into smooth curls that were pulled back by a silver comb in the shape of a butterfly.

Snape was never one to outwardly show his sentiments, but he could not deny that she had transformed into a lovely young witch. Master Draco had chosen well.

Hermione looked at him expectantly. Instead of telling her she looked beautiful, he complimented her indirectly by saying, “Prince Draco will be pleased.”

Smiling, she walked out the door with her former tutor and forgot about all the nastiness that the day had wrought. No longer was she worried about her stepmother’s threats. Instead, Hermione was filled with contentment at having used her magic for the first time in years and hopefulness at the prospect of seeing her bandit-turned-prince once more.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

The ball was already in full swing when Hermione walked through the arched doorway with Mr. Snape, who was acting as her chaperone. When the spell was cast upon her, she shivered at the magic coursing through her. The ballroom was decorated opulently in rich greens and silvers. The giant room was octagonal with fir trees in each corner that reached from floor to ceiling. Overhead, several shiny chandeliers floated, swirling in time with the dancers below.

They made their way to the receiving line and Hermione’s stomach fluttered with nerves. What if this was the wrong thing to do? What if she wasn’t his match? If she was his match, what would his father say?

She watched as wizards and witches decked out in all their finery paid their respects to the king and queen. It was clear where her bandit had gotten his good looks. Both of his parents sported the same flaxen hair that reminded her of corn silk. His father was tall and imposing, holding himself with an air of importance. His mother’s features were delicate, her eyes an icy blue. Both greeted their guests politely, but they seemed disinterested for the most part.

Their gazes became more discerning whenever it was made clear that a young witch was unattached. Hermione could not fully see Draco, for he was on the far end of the receiving line, but whenever his hand came in touch with a lady’s, his parents would tense. When it became clear that the girl was not the one, they would almost wilt in disappointment.

Had she not been so nervous, she would have laughed.

With one last deep breath, she squared her shoulders and allowed her former teacher to lead her before the magical royal family for the first time. Recalling her childhood lessons in propriety, Hermione curtseyed deeply before the king and queen.

“Please rise, my child,” the queen softly commanded. Hermione rose gracefully, but kept her eyes lowered.

In contrast to his wife‘s voice, the king’s was loud and booming. “Mr. Snape, please introduce us to your charge.”

“Your Majesty, may I present Miss Hermione Granger. She is a former student of mine.”

“Ah, I see. Is she as bright as she is pretty?”

“Quite, sir. Perhaps the brightest pupil I’ve ever tutored.” Snape smiled indulgently. “Prince Draco excluded, of course.”

“Now, Mr. Snape,” Draco interrupted, and her eyes snapped to his whilst her stomach did somersaults. He held her gaze as he continued to speak to their teacher. “I do believe you’re being too kind. I’m sure Miss Granger is much smarter than I.”

He reached his right hand out to her. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

It felt as though the room were slipping away while everyone held their collective breaths, watching as her hand made its way into his. The skin of her palm touched his, and a small spark crackled between them. Hermione gasped in surprise and squeaked out, “Oh!”

The young prince grinned. “May I have this dance?”

Without waiting for a formal answer, Draco pulled her to the dance floor, ignoring the rest of the receiving line. He paid no attention to the eyes of the crowd or of his parents. 

He was also most certainly unaware of a particular gaze that looked upon the scene with the greatest displeasure.

Before she could even comprehend what had happened, he was twirling her around the ballroom in an elegant waltz, smiling at her all the while.

“I can’t believe you’re here! I knew it would be you.” 

They glided round and round. Hermione felt lightheaded, not only because of the dizzying dance, but because her senses had been overwhelmed. It was only a few hours ago that she had been hauling buckets of water into the house to fill baths. Now she was at a fancy ball in the arms of a prince!

She stumbled, and Draco caught her around the waist.

“Are you well?” He looked concerned.

“Yes, I…” She smiled embarrassedly. “It has been a long day, and I’m afraid that I am not used to so much dancing.”

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Perhaps you need some air. Come with me.”

Draco led her from the floor and out onto a large, heat-charmed balcony, snagging a glass of water from one of the many floating serving trays along the way. 

Outside, the music sounded tinny and far away. Snow covered the grounds, cushioning the noise even further. He handed her the water. Taking it with her left hand, she sipped it and looked at him questioningly over the rim of the glass as though she was working out a problem in her mind. Clearly, the conclusion to which she came was unpleasant, because suddenly, without warning, she smacked him hard on the shoulder with her free hand.

“You lied to me!”

“Ow!” Draco rubbed his shoulder and scowled at her. “Why are you always so violent? You’re the only girl here who would have the audacity to strike me.”

“Well, perhaps you need a good whipping every once in a while. It’s not nice to go around lying to girls.” She placed the glass on a ledge so that she could cross her arms and fully express her anger.

“I had to lie! One does not tell the truth whilst running away. It would defeat the purpose!” He huffed in annoyance. “Besides, you weren’t exactly forthcoming yourself.”

At that, the tension melted from her body, and her arms slipped down to hug herself around her middle. “I had no choice. I wanted to tell you the truth. I have been forbidden to speak of it for a very long time.”

“Forbidden?” Draco didn’t like the sound of that at all. 

“Yes. I also have to tell you that, though I have magic, I am afraid my training is lacking.” Hermione looked up at him, anxiety visible in her eyes. “Does that… does that matter?”

Gazing at her tenderly, he shook his head. “It does not matter at all. I can have Snape teach you whatever your heart desires.” He chewed on his lip. “As for your having magic, it will make things a bit easier with Father, but honestly, I wanted to marry you even when I thought you were a Muggle.”

“Marry?” she squeaked.

He shrugged. “If you’ll have me.”

“What about my blood status? Your father will never approve!”

Draco smirked. “The magic approved when we touched earlier. Father has no say in the matter. We have Mr. Snape to thank for that.”

“Oh.” She gave him a girlish smile and twisted her fingers together nervously. 

He stared at her expectantly for a long time. “Hermione?”

“Yes?”

His cheeks warmed, and he cleared his throat. “So… will you? Marry me?”

“OH!” Her eyes went wide. “Yes! Of course!”

He swooped in and gathered her in his arms, hugging her tightly before leaning in for a sweet kiss. His lips left her mouth and trailed over her cheek. Kissing her just below her ear, Draco felt her shiver in delight.

“You called me by my name,” she whispered.

Pulling back but keeping her in his grasp, he looked her in the eye. “Yes. Hermione. I hear that it is Greek for ‘earthly.’ I must say that, in this environment, that does not quite fit.”

“Draco is Latin for dragon. I am uncertain your name suits you either.”

“Well, if need be, we can always go back to life as a bandit and a cinder girl.” He gently bumped her nose with his. 

“I don’t know. I think I may be ready for a new adventure.” Hermione grinned up at him, and he returned her smile. 

“Then a new adventure you shall have.” Kissing her again with much more fervor, he tickled her lips with the tip of his tongue. Hermione opened her mouth and teased back, and he soon found that her passionate personality was evident in her kissing as well. 

Reluctantly, Draco pulled back and took in her swollen lips and flushed face. “I must go talk to my father.” Merlin, she was beautiful. “But first, one more kiss for luck.” He brought his lips to hers yet again.

Several minutes and kisses later, he finally went to find his father.

Looking like a little boy bouncing away, he said, “Do not go anywhere. I shall be right back.”

Nodding at him, Hermione promised that she would stay put. Once he was out of sight, she placed her cool hands on her reddened cheeks and giggled. She had thought that she would never be happy again, but now she felt ready to burst with joy.

She heard steps behind her and turned with a grin, expecting to see her prince. Unfortunately, she was very wrong.

“You never did learn to listen to your elders.”

When Draco returned moments later, all he found was a wand made of vine wood.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Over the years, Hermione had been made to do many things that she found disagreeable. She had thought it unpleasant to be forced to do things over which she had no say.

However, she had never truly understood what it was like to lose her free will until she had been put under an Imperius Curse. Her body moved like a puppet on a string, while her mind fought in vain against it. It was terrifying knowing that, if her stepmother chose, she could drown herself in a lake or walk right off a cliff.

On her way out of the castle, she smiled at people as she passed. All the while, her thoughts were screaming for Draco or Mr. Snape or anyone at all to please help.

Please stop! Please stop!

Rodmilla escorted her just outside the palace gates before Apparating them straight into the sitting room of the Granger home. In all the years that Hermione had known her, her stepmother had never tempted fate by magically popping into a Muggle area. Rodmilla’s anger in that moment was deep and dangerous.

Hermione was truly frightened. 

“You disgusting little wretch!” Her stepmother waved her wand, sending Hermione flying across the room. She slammed into an ornate mirror hanging on the opposite wall, then fell to the floor as shards of glass showered all around her. 

The fragments of glass were painfully embedded in her hands, and when she looked down at the blood dripping from her fingers onto her dress, she vaguely noted that her beautiful gown had transformed back into her working clothes.

Before she was able to fully comprehend what was happening, Hermione whooshed through the air again and into another wall, her head colliding painfully with the wall. Dazed, she crumpled into a heap on the floor.

“You’re nothing but a dirty animal! You taint everything, and now you’re trying to worm your way into wizarding royalty?!” Rodmilla laughed madly. “Look at you. Filthy Mudblood. You are a waste of space.”

She lifted her wand. “Crucio!”

Hermione’s body exploded in pain. She tried to cry out, but the terror and pain suppressed it, and she was unable to make even a small squeak.

Her stepmother let up on the spell, only to repeat it again, laughing maniacally all the while. 

Hermione wanted to escape, but she physically could not. Instead, she began to escape mentally. Her body continued to writhe and twitch, but her thoughts ran to her father and how he had used to read to her as a child. She thought of Harry and their childish pranks on Mr. Snape. She even had fond memories of her old tutor and how she had once loved to exasperate him.

Then there was her bandit. Her Malfoy. He had made her laugh and think and feel like no other person had ever done before. Hermione thought of how he could look at her and make her feel beautiful even when she was covered in soot and wearing the shabbiest of clothes. She thought of his smile and how it made her belly flip-flop, and she remembered the tingle of his lips upon hers. He made her cheeks blush and her heart swell. 

Her chest ached when she realized that she would probably never see him again. She was going to die.

Suddenly, Rodmilla stopped. Hermione’s body continued to spasm, and she felt herself lifted into the air before everything went dark. 

“Meow.”

“Crooks?” she whispered. A tiny, rough tongue licked at her fingers. In the distance, she could hear muffled voices, but she was uncertain to whom they belonged. She just wanted to sleep.

A furry head butted into hers. Cracking open her eyes, she saw a sliver of light peeking underneath a door. Where was she? Clarity slowly began to return, and she became aware that she was in a closet. 

Her body ached all over and her head throbbed, but she put all of her strength into focusing on the voices outside. 

One in particular rang out very clearly. “Where is she?!”

Malfoy! He was here! He was just outside that door. She had to get up. She had to get out of here.

“Malfoy!” she tried to call out, but her voice was raw from the strain of attempted screams, and it came out as barely a whisper. 

Slowly, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, her muscles shaking with the effort. 

Get up, get up, get up…

Crookshanks meowed his encouragement, and she shakily gripped the doorframe and pulled herself to her feet. She tried banging on the door, but it seemed that no one could hear her. It appeared that her stepmother had put some sort of charm on the door to prevent sound from trickling out.

Hermione could only think of one more thing to try. She wasn’t sure if she had the power to do it, but she had to do something! Gathering all of her strength, she focused on her magic. Waving her hand in front of the door, she spoke the incantation.

“Alohomora.”

Nothing.

She tried again, her voice a little louder.

“Alohomora!”

The door knob rattled that time. Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, Hermione cleared her mind and allowed her magic to take over completely. 

“ALOHOMORA!”

The closet door splintered into a million pieces.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Draco did not know what to expect as he made his way back to the farm that he had called home for a short time. His heart hammered with fear at what he might find. The royal family had been alerted immediately when the palace wards had detected the use of an Unforgivable Curse.

Worried about having left Granger alone, he had rushed back outside, only to find her gone. Upon his discovery, he had sought out Mr. Snape, who had given him a brief background on Rodmilla Greengrass and his fear that she had gone mad.

Her stepmother, a woman who was supposed to stand in place of her mother and take care of her, seemed intent only on hurting her. She had kept Hermione from her education, forced her into servitude, and treated her poorly.

The idea of someone doing this to his Granger, his bright and beautiful girl, infuriated him. Along with Snape and a few members of the royal guard, he busted into the home and demanded to know Hermione’s whereabouts.

The woman bowed deeply and stumbled over her words at his sudden intrusion. “Y-your Highness! What an unexpected surprise!”

“Where is she?!”

“I am sorry, Your Highness, I know not of whom you speak.” Her lies slipped from her tongue with great ease.

“I think you do know, _witch_ ," he spat. "Miss Hermione Granger. Where can I find her?”

“The servant girl, Your Highness? I am afraid I dismissed her earlier this evening. She is a thief.”

Draco lifted his eyebrows at that. “I see. And pray tell, what did she steal?”

“Lavender, Your Highness.”

The Prince didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony. He knew what had happened to the missing lavender, as he had been the one to steal it for Granger’s bath. It hurt him to think that she might have been punished for his misdeed. 

Without warning, a closet door shattered, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions. Draco ducked as the palace guards threw up a shielding spell, keeping the stray bits from hitting them all. When he stood and looked over at where the door had once been, he saw Hermione standing there.

She looking battered and bruised; blood stained her hands and trickled down the side of her face. She seemed unsteady, and Draco rushed toward her as her knees gave way, managing to catch her before she hit the floor.

“Malfoy,” she whispered before succumbing to unconsciousness, her body still twitching under his fingers. 

The realization of what had happened sickened him. He looked at Rodmilla in horror. “You used the Cruciatus Curse on her?!”

“She’s not fit to lick your boots, Your Highness! She’s nothing but a filthy Mud--”

Snape cut her off with a silencing spell. “That’s enough of that.”

Draco looked at Hermione’s pale face. Gently, he placed her on a nearby chaise before turning back to her stepmother, fury burning in his eyes. "How _dare_ you?! The only one here not fit to possess magic is _you_ ," he growled between gritted teeth. The room crackled with his magic. "You are a poor excuse for a witch. I should curse you and see how you like it.” Trembling with anger, he ordered her onto her knees and pointed his wand at her.

A firm but gentle hand gripped his shoulder. "Miss Granger would not want this, Your Highness," his old tutor said quietly. Draco held his position for a moment longer before releasing a shaky breath. He lowered his wand and bowed his head. Mr. Snape was right. No matter how poorly this woman had treated her, Hermione would not have approved of such a harsh retaliation. 

The prince looked at Rodmilla with an icy glare. "You have been spared for the moment. However, make no mistake. You _will_ be punished."

Draco looked over at the guards. “Take her wand away, and throw her in the palace dungeons until I can think of a suitable form of retribution.” 

With that, he lifted Hermione into his arms and carried her out of the house and back to the palace.

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

Hermione was dreaming. She was on a warm, fluffy cloud, floating in the sky without a worry in the world. Who knew that clouds were so cozy?

Sighing, she burrowed further into the softness. Beside her ear, she could hear the distinct sound of purring.

“Crookshanks! You always wake me from the best dreams.”

Her eyes popped open, but the softness didn’t go away. She was on a large, down-covered bed, surrounded by light, flowing curtains that draped down from the canopy. Her eyes traveled around the room. Everything was beautiful and expensive. It was all light blues and ivories with silver accents. 

Was she dead? Was this heaven?

When she turned her head to the right, she saw the most beautiful sight of all. Sitting in a chair, with his neck at an awkward angle, was a sleeping prince snoring softly. 

Crookshanks pawed the pillow next to her before getting up for a luxurious stretch. He stepped over her and leapt into Malfoy’s lap, startling him awake. 

“Blasted cat!”

Hermione giggled slightly, and Draco’s gaze snapped toward her.

“You’re awake!” He grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “How do you feel?”

“Quite well, I think.” She squeezed his fingers. “Where are we?”

“Malfoy Palace, m’lady.” He stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb and smiled.

Suddenly, she sat up with a gasp.

Alarmed, Draco asked, "Hermione? What is it?"

"Bessie! How long have I been sleeping? She needs to be milked!"

He chuckled in relief and amusement. "Bessie is fine, my darling. She's living the life of a true lady cow, along with the rest of the royal livestock." 

"Oh," she said, exhaling as she fell back into the feathery pillows. "What of my stepmother?"

A dark look passed over Malfoy's eyes, and Hermione became worried that he had done something rash. Her troubled thoughts must have been evident, for his face changed into a more pleasant expression.

"Do not fret, love. I have not maimed or killed her, despite my great desire to do so." He looked at her solemnly. "Why did you not tell me of her despicable behavior?"

Hermione looked away in embarrassment. "I did not think it mattered. I did not think that there was anything that could be done."

Pulling her hand towards him again, Draco pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. "Something can be done, and it will be. She will be dealt with."

Once again, Granger looked unsettled and bit her lip. Her prince smiled and reassured her. "She will not be dealt with in a manner of which you would not approve.”

Looking at him with watery eyes, she sighed and tried to return his smile, but her face crumpled, and she began to cry. They were tears of relief and joy, the kind that cleared the soul.

Draco moved from his chair and sat on the bed, leaning over her so that he could wipe the wetness from her cheeks. "What is it, Hermione? What has upset you so?"

With a sniffle, Hermione laughed. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I have never been happier." Placing her hands on each side of his face, she pulled him down to kiss him soundly. 

The prince gazed at her with all the love in his heart shining through his eyes. 

"Welcome home."

`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

There were three things that Rodmilla Greengrass valued above all else: her magic, her looks, and great wealth. In the end, it was decided that she should be stripped of all three.

First, she was given a potion that transformed one's outer appearance to reflect his or her true nature. Not surprisingly, upon consumption, Rodmilla turned into a hideous old hag. Her wand was confiscated and snapped in half; she was forever forbidden to use magic in any capacity. To further enforce this, she was banished to a creaky old cottage in the deepest, darkest forest, which was enchanted to keep her from using even wandless magic. If she so much as attempted to concoct a potion, the wards would detect it, and the royal guards would be alerted.

Her daughter, Daphne, was a spoiled and rude young lady. However, she had not committed any offense beyond that. The prince was concerned that she would follow in her mother's footsteps, but his bride-to-be felt that her mother was exactly why she would not be a problem. Rodmilla's punishment was an example that Daphne would not want to follow. It would be discovered later that Daphne had actually fallen in love with a half-blood boy. In the absence of her mother's watchful eye, she was free to marry him.

In contrast, Astoria had always been kind to her stepsister. To show her appreciation, Hermione made her one of her ladies-in-waiting, a highly coveted position. The two became close and were able to act like real sisters, something they had not been allowed to do as children. One evening, Astoria told Hermione of a red-headed boy to whom she had formed an attachment. He was the brother-in-law of Hermione's childhood friend, Harry Potter, and a couple of years older than she. Pleased with the match, Hermione bequeathed her family home and land to Astoria as a dowry.

Of course, the match most interesting to the royal court was that of the young prince and his Muggle-born bride. The wedding was a monumental event in the wizarding world, sparking a new acceptance of Muggle-borns into society. Of course, some did not change their ideals, continuing to speak ill of Muggles and their magical offspring, but not in polite company and never in the presence of the prince.

Princess Hermione was mostly well-liked by the public. She was seen as a brilliant and powerful witch, but she was also known to be kind-hearted, with an understanding of the lower classes. She had great respect for those who toiled for their livelihoods, from the most powerful of wizards to the lowliest of house elves. Hard work was hard work, regardless of one’s station at birth.

Hermione also had a great love of learning and encouraged education in the kingdom. As a wedding gift, Draco had given her a library full of more books than she could ever hope to read; he promised that Mr. Snape would be on hand to tutor her for as long as she wished. 

Even though neither had had the opportunity to attend, they also made trips to Hogwarts once or twice a year to hand out accolades to the students. 

Their life together was long and prosperous. Things were not always easy. There were arguments aplenty and moments of heartbreak.

But, for the most part, they lived happily ever after.

  


**The End!**  


`*•.`*•..•*´.•*´

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
> 
> I have so much to say about this story, so forgive me if I get long-winded. First of all, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to namelessamelie for doing a quick beta and helping me clean up my grammar errors. Her assistance was invaluable.
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>  
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> Also, much love to the [Dramione Couples Remix Fest](http://dramione-remix.livejournal.com) mods for running such a great fest (and doubly thanks for the Mod's Choice!). I'm also thankful to all the lovely comments and encouragement I received at the Remix community. 
> 
>  
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> When the [Dramione Remix](http://dramione-remix.livejournal.com) was first announced, I was _really_ excited as both a reader and a writer. I knew this fest was going to be a unique challenge and the quality and variety of fics it produced is a testament to that. 
> 
>  
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> I initially was going to choose another couple that I was more familiar with via another fandom. However, I decided that I wanted to do something totally different. I have a (not so) secret love of alternate universe fanfics and this presented me with the opportunity to write one.
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>  
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> When I chose Cinderella and Prince Charming as my couple, the first thing I decided was I wanted it to feel like a fairy tale. So, I opted to write it in a slightly more stilted and formal way. It was actually very exhausting trying to avoid modern phrases. You all have no idea how much I use the word "okay." Lol.
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> The other thing I decided was Draco was _not_ going to be a typical Prince Charming. I wanted him to have his own worries and to have an active role in the story and not just show up as Hermione's rescuer at the end.
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> I was heavily influenced by the film _Ever After_. If you've seen the film, you probably caught the little nods throughout the story (the stepmother's name is Rodmilla, the younger sister is not so cruel, a father encouraging his daughter to be educated, etc.).
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> There are even a few winks at the Disney version of Cinderella. Astoria and Daphne serendipitously happen to share the initials of the evil stepsisters in that film (Anastasia and Drizella), Hermione's dress is a silvery blue, and she gets help from furry friends (in this case, her beloved Crookshanks). 
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> Alternate universe stories can be tricky because while the setting has changed, the characters still have to be recognizable. I hope that I managed to achieve that, even if just a little.
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> I am more proud of this story than anything else I've ever written. I hope you enjoyed it, too. <3


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